Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“You need to go home,” I said softly, cutting off his opinion about putting ketchup on eggs.
“What?” he asked with a confused laugh.
“You need to be in bed with your leg up.” I pulled my feet from his lap and sat up on the couch. “Or go to the hospital.”
“I’m not going to the hospital in the middle of the night. Hospitals are for emergencies.”
“Well, you need to do something,” I replied, gesturing at his leg. “You’re in pain.”
“It’s fine,” he said, brushing off my concern.
“Well, it needs to be fine in bed.”
“I could sleep in your bed,” he said with a sly smile.
“You haven’t even seen me naked,” I said drily. “You’re not sleeping in my bed.”
“Okay.” He grinned. “Strip.”
“Dream on, Casanova,” I said with a surprised laugh.
He smiled wide and gave an exaggerated wink, making me snicker.
“I had a really good time tonight,” Alex murmured, gingerly lowering his foot to the floor. He didn’t stand up, just sat there looking at me.
“So did I,” I replied. “Next time we’ll have to watch a movie or something.”
“I’d rather watch you.”
“Oh, brother,” I teased. “So smooth.”
“Tough crowd,” he said to the nonexistent audience in my living room. He pushed himself to his feet and let out a big sigh.
“Can you make it home okay?” I asked nervously. Now that I was kicking him out, I wasn’t so sure that it was a good idea to make him drive all the way home. He wasn’t putting any weight on his bad knee, and judging by the strain on his face, he was having a hard time standing.
“I’ll make it home fine,” he said. It wasn’t bravado. His tone was kind, like he didn’t want me to worry.
I walked him to the door slowly, and with every step, I questioned whether I should just ask him to stay the night. How would that play out, though? My couch was way too small for either of us to sleep on comfortably—not that he’d let me sleep on it anyway. So…he’d sleep next to me when we’d only kissed a couple of times, and we’d cuddle? I wouldn’t sleep. I’d be worried all night that he’d see me snoring with my mouth wide open or I’d accidentally kick his knee.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said as we got to my front door.
“Let me know what the doctor says about your knee,” I said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He rested his hand on the doorknob but didn’t turn it. Instead, he used it to balance himself as he leaned down and kissed me.
It was a good kiss. One of the best I’d ever had.
Here’s the thing about kissing—you could say someone does it well, but it’s all subjective. A person could say that their partner kisses well because he barely uses his tongue, while another person could think that kisser is awful because he doesn’t use his tongue enough. It’s all about the chemistry and the dance. Kissing is a team sport, a little give and take, making sure that the other person is getting what they want while also taking a little yourself.
With all that said, I was pretty sure Alex was a good kisser no matter who you asked. He wasn’t crazy or hurried; he didn’t overwhelm. He just kind of waited to see what I did, and did the same thing. The kiss was leisurely and smooth, and one of his hands cupped the side of my face as he took it deeper. By the time he pulled away, my head was almost spinning, and I stutter-stepped a little as his hand left my face.
“Well, that just keeps getting better,” he said huskily. He chuckled softly. “Thank you for having me over.”
“Thanks for bringing me dinner,” I replied quietly. “Be careful driving home.”
“Of course.” He leaned forward and kissed the top of my head, and then he was gone.
I stood just inside the door for a long time. Normally I would have watched him through the window, but I was afraid if I had to see him limp toward his truck, I would call him back inside. I wasn’t ready for a sleepover yet. I just wasn’t. I liked Alex a lot, but sleeping with someone was a little more intimate than I was ready for.
Eventually, I moved away from the door and started cleaning up our dishes. My heart was still racing, and my face felt warm from that kiss. He was right—it was getting better. Our first kiss had been spontaneous and sweet, full of excitement but rushed. This one had been slow and smooth. It was like the difference between a lollipop and a piece of expensive chocolate: both had their place, but the chocolate was so much better.
I’d just put our dishes away and straightened up the pillows on the couch when my phone beeped with a text message.