Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35291 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35291 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
The sudden sternness in his voice shakes something loose inside me and I blurt, “Yes, sir."
I want your help and a few other things I don’t want to mention right now.
Sir.
Great. Now the arrogant ass thinks I'm drunk on Fifty Shades of middle-aged women finding their kinky side.
His eyes darken, lines deepen on his forehead, and my insides start to twist.
"Sir," he repeats on an intoxicatingly slow blink.
My face burns as I shake my head. "That was not what I meant to—"
"It's fine." He clicks his tongue in his cheek and I swear to Be-Jezzus a tiny tremor shakes the ground of Wildfire, Michigan. "You’re going with me."
"Where?"
"First, to get my truck. Come on." He starts walking again, and from this angle, I don’t even care where.
You know that sort of walk a guy has where they take a step, and their upper thigh just naturally has this flex and bend thing going on?
It’s not quite a swagger, but like something in their hips moves, and my insides feel like that spicy cheese they pour over chips at baseball games.
I should not follow him. I can wait by my car. This is absolutely unnecessary.
Those are the thoughts going through my head as my feet move without my approval. Heels clicking against the concrete, feeling ridiculous and small and strangely safe all at once.
This is insane.
Kit would drag me by the hair back to the car. Marla would livestream an intervention. But here I am, trailing after a man who looks like he uses a cheese grater on his knuckles as a hobby.
There's probably a lifetime movie about a girl like me. Opposites attract. City girl meets…what is he exactly?
He’s not country really.
He’s like rural blue-collar sex that you smoke from a crack pipe.
"What's your name?" I call as he picks up the pace and I have to do the tiptoe jog to keep up.
He stops. His ass flexes into steel as he turns with a scowl.
"Beau," he answers as the muscles in his shoulders seem to inflate. “Boone.”
I squint an eye. “Which is it? Beau or Boone? Or is that a nickname or a surname? Like, what is on your birth certificate? Or your driver’s license? Do you file your taxes under Beau or—”
“Jesus.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Are you always like this?”
“Like what? Curious about the identity of a man who says it’s my lucky day, he’s got a tow truck and tells me to follow him?” I nod, eyes wide. “Yeah, I’m always like this in this situation.”
He just stares, blinking as though I’ve just asked him for the secret of the sauce. “Beau comes first. Boone comes second. But you can add that Sir in front of either if it makes you feel better.”
This fucking guy.
“And you?” He cocks his head, a flicker of silver catching at his temples. “Name?”
Panic closes my throat to a pinprick and I hiss, "Tess—" Cough. “Tina. Tina Quincy.”
Wow. My 140 IQ just rolled its eyes. That’s the best I could do?
This man’s sky-blue eyes make me feel like a lump of coal about to turn into a diamond.
He just nods on a grumbling exhale and resumes walking.
And for the first time in weeks, I smile. Even let out a little snort.
I’m pissed off and turned on and completely out of my depth.
But awake. So, freakin’ wide awake.
Look out, world, Tina Quincy’s about to light a Wildfire.
Three
Beau
She walks like a newborn filly.
Her ass sways with each unsteady step, wet silk molded to tits I've memorized through a screen.
Tina Quincy, my ass.
Tessa fucking Quinn.
The new goth-black hair is a nice touch, but I know her. My obsession runs so deep she could wear a sack, shave her head and belch the Star-Spangled Banner, and I'd still know it was her.
Mine. The thought slams into me, cock thick as a damn can.
She has no idea I've watched her for months. I know her nipples peak when she's cold. Her voice goes breathy when she's nervous. How she curled into a ball and cried the day they tore her apart online.
How all her accounts went dark 48 hours ago.
I want to turn her little ass over and show her what happens to girls who call strange men "sir." But I know what happens when monsters like me touch delicate things.
We break them. We might not mean to, but we do.
Once, all it took was a toddler playing a trick, only, I didn’t know that and in the next breath she was on the ground not moving.
"I'll get the tow truck arranged." I swallow around the tightness in my throat. "It’ll be safe at my shop until I can get it fixed."
Total bullshit. Her car just needs a couple hours to dry out, but she doesn't know that, and I’m not about to tell her.