Page 63 of Things I Read About

“I will.” He lifts his voice to fill the kitchen. “I don’t like being left out of family pow-wows.”

“Dad, you know all this drama is not good for your heart,” Susan says on her way to the coffee machine. I watch Suze press the buttons to start her cup, trying to memorize how Shep’s expensive barista contraption works.

My father grunts back.

“Plus, all we did last night was give Sally a hard time about Hottie McBodyguard,” Skye says from her barstool.

“True,” I mumble.

Six minutes.

Matt comes up behind Skye, wrapping his arms around her and whispering in her ear. Clearly, he heard the hottie comment. They both smile and he pulls away, but Skye grabs his arms and holds them to her.

I look away, still not used to how Skye, the self-proclaimed bitchy sister, is the one who does all the melting where Matt is concerned.

“Well, I don’t need to be around for the girly parts, but I want to weigh in on our security and logistics. Quit siccing your husbands on me.”

“But we’re just so good at distracting you,” Shep teases, joining us from the hall that leads to their wing of the house. His face goes serious, and he looks down at his phone. “Hey, did you hear about how many starters ended up on the Sooners’ preseason injury list?”

“What!” My dad’s face contorts, twisted by his love for OU football.

Shep starts laughing hysterically. Everyone else joins, but I make my way toward the hallway at the front of the house.

Because Nate should be here.

7:01. One minute late.

I stand, waiting just out of sight of the giant glass front doors, like a stalker. And maybe like a pathetic ex-girlfriend. Except I was never his girlfriend, and never will be, based on the emotions swarming in his dark eyes last night. Loathing, is what I guessed it was while I lay awake hours ago. Awake, thinking about right now.

7:07.

That’s weird. I wouldn’t expect him to be late. I huff at myself and lean against the wall. How should I know what to expect? I barely know him.

I do know how serious he was yesterday. The intensity. I close my eyes, remembering.

He smashed the door open and every ink-coated muscle in his arms pushed, pulsed. His black shirt clung to his big chest like a second epidermis, revealing that he’s still in immaculate shape. The black cargo pants, black boots, the gun tucked into the back of his pants.So hot.

My eyes fly open at the sound of the doors opening.

“Not like the others my ass, Dean. This place takes up the whole damn county,” Nate says quietly.

“Don’t forget, you gotta watch your language with this family.”

Nate’s jaw is clenched. “Dean. I swear to G—”

“Nope, no doing that either.” Dean laughs.

“Oh good, Miss Canton,” Fergus says, suddenly right beside me.

I scream and jump what feels like a foot off the ground.

Nate is in the hallway a moment later, gun drawn.

“Easy, easy. Just me.” Fergus holds out his hands. He looks at me. “Sorry I snuck up on you.”

I put my own hand to my sternum, watching Nate’s chest—his lungs are pumping fast, just like mine. I shake my head, annoyed with myself.

“Nate,” Fergus says, urging us all out of the tiny hall and back into the foyer. “I was just about to ask Miss Canton to give you a tour of the inside, as our departure time has been moved up.”