Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
The taste of arousal meets my tongue as I sample what I’ve done to her. Focusing on her clit, I circle it before gently sucking—a move that sends her stomach caving and her thighs locking around me. She grips the edge of the small dresser as I continue to devour her.
And as I’m lost between her legs, immersed in her addictive scent, the world around me fades.
A guy could get used to this—even if a guy shouldn’t.
TWENTY-THREE
ANNELIESE
pistanthrophobia (n.) fear of trusting people due to past experiences with relationships gone bad
“Anneliese, hi!” Berlin stops by the shop Monday afternoon, a leather portfolio tucked under one arm.
“Hey, stranger.” I lean over the glass counter. “What’s new?”
She fillets the portfolio and pulls out a sheet of white paper covered in brightly hued logos.
“So,” Berlin says, “I settled on Stem and Petal for the name. I thought it would be a cute nod to the original name . . . so as not to confuse customers . . . and I just adore it.”
“Love it.”
“And I had a local graphic artist whip me up some new branding.” She flips the paper so it faces me. “Which one do you like? I’m leaning toward the second one. It captures that modern vibe that I was originally going for.”
I place my hand over my heart. “First of all, I’m honored that you came all the way down here to share this with me. And secondly, I’m thrilled that you want my opinion on the logo, because no one ever asks my opinion about anything other than names . . .”
She laughs. “Don’t be so modest. You have great taste and an eye for this stuff. I trust your judgment.”
I pore over the logo variants for a few moments before settling on the third one from the bottom. “Number two is great, and I’m not ruling it out, but this one feels like something that would fit right in among your neighboring shops. The second one might be too metropolitan for Arcadia Grove?” I wince. “Just my two cents.”
She frowns, spinning the page back to her and homing in on the third one from the bottom.
“You have a point,” she says with a sigh.
“Don’t let me sway you. If you love number two, then by all means . . .”
“No, you’re right. No need to reinvent the wheel. Arcadia Grove does have a certain vintagey nostalgic feel that people go nuts for. The logo you like captures that.” Berlin traces her finger over the logo I chose before stuffing it back into the portfolio. “All right. Easy enough. We’ll go with that one.”
Glancing at my watch, I get a thrill through my middle when I see it’s almost time to close up for the day . . . which means going home to Lachlan.
The other night was unexpected to say the absolute least, but it wasn’t as weird as it should’ve been. His touch didn’t feel foreign; it felt natural. And despite Lachlan being a dead ringer for Donovan, I didn’t once experience anything remotely akin to emotional déjà vu.
When I woke up this morning, it took me all of five seconds to realize I’d overslept. I had no more than twenty minutes to get showered and to the shop on time, so I ran out of there without so much as a goodbye. Two hours later, Lachlan texted me a picture showcasing the demo he and my father had done so far on the main-floor bathroom.
I don’t expect things to be weird between us—we’re both grown adults.
But I can’t deny that every time I’ve thought about him today, I’ve felt a little niggle deep in my center that hasn’t quite left since last night. It’s stuck there. Swirling. Tickling. Demanding attention like a petulant child.
“Hey, you want to grab dinner tonight?” Berlin asks. “There’s this new Italian place on the north side. I hear their zucchini parmesan is life changing.”
“Aw, I’d love that, but it’s my parents’ last night in town.” I log out of the iPad, turn out the “open” light, and lock the front door. “Maybe tomorrow?”
“Can’t. I have my hot-yoga class,” she says. “You want to come?”
“I’m probably the least flexible person you will ever meet. I’d be a huffing, puffing distraction.”
“Oh, come on. I’m sure you’re not that bad.” She laughs.
“No, I promise—I am that bad, and then some,” I say. “Are you free Wednesday night? Maybe we can do something then?”
Her brows rise. “For sure.”
I walk her to the door, unlatching the lock to let her out. “I’ll text you.”
She gives me a smile and a finger wave before trotting to her car. I lock up once again, draw the shades, and hit the lights before exiting out the back.
My stomach somersaults the whole drive home, anticipating the moment I walk in the door and see Lachlan again. The text he sent earlier regarding the bathroom demo made me think it was his way of acting like everything was cool between us, that nothing was going to change or be awkward. Which is great. That’s what I want. I’m not trying to date him, but I’m also not trying to pretend like the other evening wasn’t one of the most enjoyable, exhilarating nights I’ve had in a long time.