Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
“I’ll take care of you,” he told me last night. “You relax while someone caters to you and then when you get scared during the movie, I’ll reassure you.”
See… that’s where it would have been nice to have a close confidante. A girlfriend to call up, tell her what he said, we’d both swoon over how sweet it was, and she’d help me pick it apart for analysis.
Sadly, I don’t have anyone like that because I never had time or opportunity to develop such things. Stepping into Mom’s shoes at such an early age and then caring for Aiden when he got sick assured me the loss of a normal life growing up as a curious girl turning into a woman. All I can do now is go with my intuition, and my gut is telling me that Boone’s motives are pure. He feels like this would be a good time for me—and him, of course—and so I have no reservations about going there.
On the flip side, if his motives weren’t so pure, not sure that would stop me either. I understand we’ve only known each other a few weeks but God, have we been through a lot together. He’s done things for me that have earned my inherent trust and I cannot pretend that I’m not insanely attracted to him. Still a little bewildered as to what he sees in me and my hot mess of a life, but Aiden said something to me this week when we were talking about Boone.
He said, “You deserve some happiness, Lilly. It’s staring you in the face. Don’t turn your back on it.”
I marveled at how grown-up he sounded but then again, that kid has learned wisdom the hard way over the years. Then he farted and laughed so hard, he almost pulled out his port line, so I was reminded he’s also still a goofy kid.
That memory makes me smile and I tell my mirror reflection, “You’re good enough.”
As if that were Boone’s cue, there’s a knock on the apartment door. I had offered to drive to his house and he promptly informed me to be quiet.
I grab my coat and purse off the couch as I walk by and then open the door to greet him. I wonder if there will ever come a time when Boone doesn’t look like an absolute dream when I first see him. His wavy dark blond hair is styled away from his face and his blue eyes sparkle as he grins. He then sweeps his hand dramatically toward his Porsche parked at the bottom of the stairs. “Your chariot awaits.”
He’s a gentleman to the core as he keeps his eyes on mine, not ogling the sweater I bought today that’s far more fitted than I’d normally wear, its V-cut showing a hint of cleavage. I can’t remember the last time I shopped for clothes, mostly ordering online because I don’t have time to drive to and browse around a store.
His arm is still extended, so I precede him down the stairs. At the car, he follows me to the passenger door and opens it for me. As I slip in, he says, “You look beautiful tonight.”
I look up at him, catching the surreptitious glance at my chest he was trying to pull off. I smile and duck my head. “Thank you.”
Boone rents an apartment in downtown Pittsburgh in a neighborhood known as the Golden Triangle. It’s an area of land enclosed by the confluence of the Allegheny and Monongahela Rivers, which serves as the city’s central business district. Past Point State Park, the city sprawls into a mix of historic and modern buildings that house the headquarters and offices of major companies and organizations, as well as offering shopping, dining, theaters and galleries.
Boone’s building sits right next to Point State Park with the front facing the Fort Pitt Bridge and Monongahela River. He leads me up to the ninth floor and as soon as we enter, I note the breathtaking river view.
“Wow,” I exclaim as I slip out of my coat. He pulls it the rest of the way off my shoulders and lays it over the back of his couch. I toss my purse there and walk to the wall of windows that face the Fort Pitt Bridge aglow with lights. “Imagine… we were just floating under that bridge last week.”
“We’ll do it again sometime,” Boone says, his hand taking mine and turning me toward the kitchen.
I take in the rest of his apartment. It’s small but styled nicely with masculine furniture and not a lot in the way of other décor. The kitchen is compact, but it has an island with two stools and he settles me on one before walking around to the other side. Pushing up his shirtsleeves, which is way too sexy of a move on a man like him, he washes his hands. After drying them, he asks, “Want a beer?”