Perfectly Broken by Prescott Lane

Author:Prescott Lane
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Contemporary Fiction, love, standalone, pie, abuse, Contemporary, Romance, new orleans, therapy, happily ever after, architect, Literature & Fiction
ISBN: 9780989339933
Publisher: Prescott Lane
Published: 2014-03-01T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“WAKE UP, SLEEPYHEAD!” Quinn yelled, jumping up and down on Peyton’s bed like a trampoline. “I missed you!”

Peyton groaned then threw a pillow over her head. “How much coffee have you had?”

“I lost count around five cups.”

“Go away!” Peyton begged.

“I even shared one with Reed.” Peyton’s head shot up, finding a big smirk on Quinn’s face. “I caught him trying to sneak out of here real early!”

“He wasn’t sneaking,” Peyton said. “He needed to get to work.”

“He told me. He wanted to make sure I knew he wasn’t being a prick, trying to make a quick getaway.” She took a seat on the bed and cocked her head to the side, pondering some deep thought. “I think he’s a little scared of me. That’s actually a good thing for you. I know Bret is scared of me. I think all men should be a little scared of their women — keeps them in line.”

Peyton released a huge yawn. “What else did you two chat about?”

“He thanked me for the bikini I packed.”

“Yeah, he’ll love you forever for that.” Peyton knew she wasn’t getting any more sleep, not with Quinn as perky as ever. So she got up, stretched, and dumped her suitcase on the bed.

“Reed’s actually growing on me,” Quinn said. “He seems to take good care of you.” She held up a plastic bag of seashells on the bed.

“Oh, just throw those in my nightstand drawer for now.”

Quinn frowned and tossed them in. “You know the slut drawer isn’t for seashells, right?”

“What drawer?”

“The slut drawer,” Quinn said, like every girl in the whole world already knew. “The bedside table drawer, where you’re supposed to have lube, condoms, vibrator, sex toys — not seashells.”

Peyton laughed. “Where do you come up with this stuff?”

* * *

“Thanks for meeting me so early,” Bret said, standing on the front porch of a dilapidated Victorian cottage. “I know it’s your first day back.”

Reed took in the cracked windows, weathered roof, and four-foot waterline along decayed wood siding. “What the hell are we doing out here?”

“I need your expert opinion.” Bret opened the front door, its hinges barely hanging on, making a spine-tingling squeak.

Reed covered his nose. “This place reeks. Did something die in here?”

“Maybe.” Bret shrugged his shoulders.

“Are the bodies still inside?” Reed deadpanned.

“I don’t think it’s been touched since the hurricane.” Bret nudged Reed forward, his foot creaking on a thin wood plank. “I need you to take a look around and see if there is any potential.”

“To be demolished?”

“No. For me and Quinn – and a family maybe.”

Again? Reed could only assume all the recent references to marriage and family were some strange hand of God, or perhaps his mother was orchestrating the whole thing from behind the scenes. “And you think this is it? Why don’t you buy something decent?”

“I guess I could,” Bret said, “but this is a good deal, good neighborhood, good investment.”

Reed sidestepped a pile of dirt and moved a cobweb from his path, then he took

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