Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Redness recoats the cheeks that had just finished being flushed.
“Dinner?”
Loving the fact that there’s no assumption that it’s a yes, that he asked versus just expected, has me shyly smiling. “I’d love to.”
He brightly beams and steps closer to capture my dangling hand. “Could you say that shit one more time for me, Pres? I just…wanna make sure it’s real.” Ry’s other hand steals a single stroke of my cheek. “That being here with you is real.”
God, I know that feeling.
“I’d love to go to dinner with you.”
Excitement spreads across his expression. “I’m off at seven. Does seven thirty work for you?”
“Don’t you need to go home and change first?”
“Nah, I’ll just buy a new one on my lunchbreak.”
The word shifts my attention briefly to the logo he’s currently sporting. “Roscoe’s Wheels & Waffles.”
Shame for some reason replaces the happier emotion. “I uh…work on cars and shit. Kind of a mechanic. Kind of mechanic bitch boy.”
“There are worse things,” I sweetly state hoping to lift the mood.
“Yeah, when you’re in charge of cleaning the bathroom after Iron Tip takes a post-Chinese food dump, it doesn’t feel that way.”
A grossed-out grimace occurs alongside a small snigger.
“Is seven thirty good for you?”
The question encourages another spontaneous decision to occur.
“Yeah, I’m working from home today, so my schedule’s pretty flexible.”
“As flexible as you?” His lewd eluding is done on an eyebrow pump.
“I’ll have you know I’ve never gotten my legs to go that high before!”
Ry’s cocky grin causes an internal huff.
Ugh.
Wrong thing to say.
I wasn’t intending to stroke his ego.
“And on that badge of fucking honor note…,” he gives my hand one last squeeze, “I gotta get going. Meet me at the shop? We can decide where to go from there?”
More questions.
More requests.
I love it.
I love him.
Fuck, I’m gonna spend most of the day talking to Katherine trying to figure out how to divide the two.
“Yeah.” My nod is slow yet decisive. “That’s perfect.”
Ry gives me a warm smile, one final soft, however, firm kiss, and slips out of my room, leaving me to melt against the doorframe in order to stop myself from following him all the way to my driveaway like the little lovesick puppy I already am.
Ohmygod, I gotta get myself together.
I cannot…I will not…just wrap my life around him.
I will have boundaries.
And rules.
And healthy expectations.
All of a sudden, Ryder momentarily appears back in my room to confess, “Just wanted you to know that you’re pretty much all I’m gonna be thinkin’ about today.”
“Same.”
Well, there goes all the previously declared bullshit.
“Give me your number?” He pulls out his cell from his pocket. “Maybe text me at lunch to help tide me over?”
“Or to torture you with naked selfies of me in bed?”
His jaw drops in speechless.
Whoa!
Where did that come from?!
What am I thinking?
Am I even thinking anymore or just…feeling?
Once I’ve rattled off the number, I’m slipped another kiss – this one with tongue – and given a second goodbye.
I know he’s actually gone thanks to the sound of my front door being slammed shut.
I don’t know if it’s because he’s in a haste or just upset he has to be separated from me for so long.
Is it wrong to hope it’s the latter?
Is it wrong for me that it is the latter?
Oh…
I need help.
And coffee.
And an emergency powdered donut from the stash I keep on the top shelf.
Getting to the last two are not an option curtesy of my vibrating cell that’s currently on my nightstand.
I cross over to the device and swipe it open only to discover it’s a selfie.
From Ry.
It’s hard to say which I love more.
Seeing him goofily grinning while stuck in traffic or the caption underneath.
Is it 7:30 yet?
The chance to reply is commandeered by Katherine’s face drunkenly squished against mine, which has been her contact photo since we first became friends. Rather than ignore her to answer him, I take the call. “Hey! You’re up super early for someone who insists not to be bothered before nine a.m. when she doesn’t have her daughter to get to school.”
“Yes, well, I got the itinerary that my first interview of the day was supposed to be over coffee and muffins in the café of this luxury hotel; however, the interviewer evidentially did not since I sat sipping Caffè Americano alone for twenty-two minutes before I called my publicist to find out they would actually be meeting me for tea and literal fucking crumpets this afternoon.”
My body flops onto the edge of my bed during a wince.
“Crumpets?! What am I British?!”
“Um…are they?”
“Not the point, darling,” she casually brushes off and proceeds to spiral. “I now have back-to-back midday interviews with no time to breathe between, a motivational speech to deliver to college students in an hour, and dinner with my agent and her husband tonight, which just makes me miss my own husband. And my daughter. And my best friend. And…” Katherine expels another loud breath. “Good God, I can’t wait to come home.”