Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 117601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Late for what? I’ve already lost you.
“I’m coming,” I say defensively, sitting up straighter in my bed. “At Christmas. I already told Dad.”
“Christmas is too far away. It’s not even Thanksgiving yet.”
“I can’t help that I have a job, Renn.”
“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. Your job’s the last reason you’re staying away. We both know that.”
A loud, lengthy honk pierces my ear through the other end of the line, followed by, “Are you coming, or what?” It’s the woman he’s seeing. I already hate her. Can’t she see he’s busy?
“Yeah, yeah,” Renn mutters, sounding completely bored with her existence. To me, he drawls, “Thanks for the gifts. Just remember next time that material stuff means jack shit. When we need you, you aren’t here.”
The line goes dead.
A storm rolls over Salem that day to complement my shitty mood. I have a shift at Witch Way Out, and I’m working on autopilot. Whenever the shop’s empty—and it’s mostly empty, seeing as nobody in their right mind is strolling the streets in this weather—I use the time to call Renn. I get his voice mail again and again. Something stops me from leaving a message. I don’t know what it is. Or maybe I do—I have no good excuse. He is right. They need me to be there for whatever reason, and I’m not ready to face the wreckage I left behind. I’m so much better at sending birthday gifts and cards and letters.
Dom texts me throughout the day to make sure I’m okay. I don’t bring him up to speed on my family drama. He has a day off today, but we can’t meet. I have to go and give a tour right after my shift. When I close the shop for the day and prepare the register for tomorrow, I hear a knock on the glass. At first, I think it’s hail.
But when I look up at the display window, I find Dom plastered against it, holding soaked flowers and a clichéd heart-shaped box of chocolate.
Rain pours down on him, rolling along his nose, stroking his cheekbones. His hair is drenched and jet black. I’m worried he’ll catch a cold. I think I’ll always be a little freaked out about Dom’s health, knowing what I know. I bolt to the door, then unlock it as I pull him inside.
“Jesus, Dom. What are you doing?” I usher him inside.
“Wooing you with a romantic gesture, I’m hoping.” He shakes the raindrops away like a dog after a bath. “Is it working?”
I laugh. “Not if you end up catching pneumonia. If I have to visit you at the hospital, I’ll be pissed. Hospitals aren’t my favorite.”
“Ha!” He raises his fist skyward. “She cares. I knew it.”
I grab a quilt from behind the register, the one Jenine, my boss, usually lets her dog sleep on, and wrap it around his shoulders.
“Hope you’re not allergic, but this quilt is the equivalent of seven big-size dogs.”
“You’re smothering me with all your love. I can’t take this anymore.” Dom leans down and drops urgent, desperate kisses all over my face. His lips are cold and wet. I giggle as I stumble backward, trying to hold his face and pull away. But he stalks me across the room until my back is pressed against the wall, and we are tucked far away from the display window view, between crystals and the tarot section. He drops the flowers and chocolate to the floor with a thud. His rapid-fire kisses continue down my neck. My willpower to take care of this crazy man is diminishing, replaced with white-hot need for him.
He grabs my ass and hoists me to wrap my legs around his waist, then rolls his pelvis against mine. I groan into our kiss, yanking at his hair to bring him closer. Then I remember that he could truly get a lung infection, and I pull myself together.
“Come on. Let me see you,” I say breathlessly, finally managing to hold his face still. He looks a little pale and cold but otherwise fine.
He wiggles his eyebrows mischievously, pretending to bite the tip of my nose. “Hello. Hi. This is me. Dom. Let’s make out.”
I burst out laughing. “You’re a nutcase, you know that?”
“Well, it’s your fault for being so pretty.” He kisses the edge of my jaw. “And interesting.” He kisses my chin. “And, uh, let me see . . . talented.” This time he travels south, down my throat.
“Wait a sec.” I roam my hands over his chest. “Your clothes are soaking wet. You need to go home and draw yourself a hot bath. I’ll come nurse you back to health as soon as I’m done with my tour.”
“Haven’t you heard? Work’s canceled. There’s a thunderstorm.” He points to the storm brewing outside. “Call your boss and ask them if you’re working today. We both know what they’re going to answer.”