Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
It was the best grand love affair of all time . . .
Stop it . . . focus!
Barry runs to the front door, and then I hear a gentle knock, knock. I open and step back in surprise when I see him. His dark hair just messed up, still wearing his suit from work, he is the epitome of fuckable.
Why does he always smell so damn good?
“Henley.”
He gives me a lopsided smile. “How are you?”
“Good.” I look out into the street. Is he here alone?
“I . . . ahh . . . I just . . .” He’s tripping over his words and clearly nervous.
“Yes.” I act brave. “What is it?”
“I bought you some new—” He gestures to six potted plants lined up on my front porch.
I cut him off. “Weeds?”
“Apparently they’re plants.” He smiles, as if relieved at my joke. “Who knew?”
You did.
I roll my lips to hide my smile.
“Anyway, I wanted to apologize for calling your house names.”
“Anything else you want to apologize for?”
“A lot, actually.” He shrugs. He tries to continue, but I cut him off.
“What else do you want to apologize for?”
“Aah.” He swallows a lump in his throat. “My . . .”
I widen my eyes as I wait.
“The way you told me to sleep with Mason?”
He winces. “Yeah . . . about that . . .”
“Yes?” I wait.
“That didn’t come out exactly right.”
“It didn’t?”
“No, it was just . . .” He shrugs.
“You’re terrible at apologizing, by the way.”
“I’m well aware.”
“Carry on,” I reply flatly. Acting tough is fun.
“I just don’t want a relationship, that’s all.”
“Okay, you could have just said that instead of trying to throw me to the wolves.”
He smirks at my analogy. “Mason is hardly a wolf. He’s more like a greyhound.”
“Jealous, are you?”
“Of him?” He screws up his face. “No.”
“Ha.” I tut as if I don’t believe him. Although his story is credible—Mason could totally be a greyhound.
We stare at each other some more as the air does that stupid thing between us, and I want to yell and scream and be a complete drama queen for him not falling madly in love with me because damn it, we have something.
But I won’t . . . I’m keeping my cards close to my chest from now on.
“I just wanted you to know that I would like us to be friends, seeing that we are neighbors,” he says with a soft smile.
It has been awkward around here with us ignoring each other.
“Okay.” I nod. “I agree. I would like that too.”
“Good.” He smiles as if proud of himself.
“Good.”
“So . . .” He hesitates. “What are you doing now?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh . . . me neither.”
“Okay.”
His eyes search mine. “Okay . . .”
“Okay.” I fake a smile. “Goodbye.”
His face falls. “Goodbye?”
Why is he repeating everything I say?
“Goodbye,” I say flatly. What does he think is going to happen?
He tells me that he doesn’t love me and to go sleep with someone else, kills half my garden with a lawn mower, and then buys me six crappy plants and has the gall to think all is forgiven?
No, Mr. James, I don’t think so.
“See you later.” I close the door in his face. I lean up against the back of it and smile in relief.
Thank god that’s over with.
An hour and a half later, I’m freshly showered and in my robe.
Knock, knock, knock. At the door, Barry is wagging his tail, so I know it’s someone we know. I open the door.
“Henley,” I say in surprise.
He gives me a beautiful broad smile, wearing navy satin boxer shorts and a white T-shirt. He smells like soap and heavenly man, and I get a vision of my legs around my ears . . . yeesh.
He’s holding a coffee mug in his hand.
“What’s up?” I try to act casual and not impressed at all.
“I was wondering if you had some spare milk?”
I frown. “What?”
“I want a cup of coffee, but I’m out of milk.”
“Oh . . .” I shrug. Not what I thought he was here for, but whatever. “Sure, come in.”
I go to the fridge and take out the milk. I go to take the coffee cup from him, and he pulls it out of my reach. “What are you doing?” He frowns.
“Getting you some milk.”
“Not cow’s milk.”
“Huh?”
“I want breast milk.”
He did not just say that.
I bubble up a surprised giggle. “You want what?”
“Breast milk. Happy to extract myself.” His teeth catch his bottom lip in that naughty way he does.
“I don’t have any breast milk.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not a lactating mother, you sicko.”
He gives me a slow sexy smile. “In exchange, I could give you some cream for your coffee?”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you have enough?”
“Ample. Two big vats of the stuff.”
I try to keep a straight face. I like this game.
“I don’t like cream in my coffee. It curdles.”
“It’s a delicacy.”
I know.