Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Then, instead of leaving awkward silence, he laughed.
Laughed.
I looked up, and his head hung between his knees. His shoulders were shaking.
“What . . .”
“I’m sorry.” He shook his head but more chuckles rang out. “I’m—this is every guy’s worst nightmare, to make a chick start bawling when you’re putting the moves on her.”
Oh. “You know why I’m crying,” I said gently. “It has nothing to do with you. You know that, right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, but still.” He gazed at me again. “Telling someone this story?”
He had a point.
My mouth twitched. “I’m so sorry.”
“I can hear the jokes. You kissed her so bad, she broke out into sobs. You kiss so sad, you literally made the girl cry.” He shook his head, his laughter subsiding. “No one can hear about this. No one.”
“Got it.”
“No one, Mac. I have a reputation to uphold.”
It was the second time he’d called me Mac. A rush of pleasure went through me.
I liked hearing that nickname from him.
But he was still waiting, and I nodded. “Got it. Not a word that I broke down in tears.”
“You can be crying. That’s fine, but I was out here consoling you—not putting the moves on you. That’s key.”
He seemed so serious, but like before, I could see dark humor lurking behind his eyes. I nodded. “Got it. I’m a crybaby, not a whore.”
“Well . . .”
I laughed, shaking my head. “I’m kidding.” And because I couldn’t help myself, I leaned forward and whispered, “But you have no worries. You’re a damn good kisser.” My lips met his again as I closed my eyes.
Someone groaned—maybe both of us—and he pulled me on top of him this time. He fell back, cradling me in his arms. And we kissed. Then we kissed some more.
I was a hussy.
It had been almost dawn when Ryan and his friends dropped me off after the party.
I snuck in, but if I’d been expecting any big confrontation with my folks, I would’ve been disappointed. They hadn’t started moving around the house until around nine this morning, and when I got up, there was a note on the kitchen table for me. Robbie had liked the school yesterday—so much so that they were taking him back. For good.
That was that.
I got no say in the matter.
Ryan came over in the afternoon, and we hung out in my room most of the time. There was kissing, but also video games, cookie dough, pizza, and sneaking some wine. Okay, lots of wine and lots of kissing, and I ended up putting a note on my door telling my folks I was sleeping before I snuggled up with Ryan the rest of the night.
And kissing. There was still more of that, but there wasn’t anything heavy.
When I woke Monday morning, I glanced at the clock. Six AM.
Ryan was already on the edge of the bed, bent over. His shirt was on, but it wasn’t pulled all the way down. He was fixing his shoes.
I sat up, tugging his shirt into place and letting my fingers skim his back as I did.
He glanced at me, his eyes darkening, the look of lust there that I’d started to recognize from Saturday night and yesterday.
“Morning,” he murmured. Leaning over, he kissed me.
“Hmmm.” I pulled back, scrunching my nose. “I have morning breath.”
He laughed, grabbing my arm and tugging me back to him. “You’re fine.” And he showed me, his lips finding mine again and not letting me move away.
I was panting in a second, feeling all sorts of tingles in my chest when he groaned, pulling away.
He rested his forehead on mine. “I gotta head home to change and get ready.” He sat up again, his eyes holding mine. “First day of school. You want a ride?”
I opened my mouth, figuring my parents would take me, and then I remembered they were probably headed to work already.
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” He nodded, opening my window. “I’ll be back around seven thirty.”
“Okay.”
His lips curved in a crooked grin before he was out the window and down the tree. I heard his truck start up a moment later. As it turned down the street, I lay back in bed and stared upward. I wasn’t looking at the ceiling. I wasn’t really looking at anything.
I was . . . I didn’t know.
We didn’t have sex last night, but our shirts had come off and jeans were unsnapped. I got up halfway through the night to put on pajama pants and a sleeping tank top. Shortly after that, the top was pulled off and pants pushed down a bit. Ryan had shucked his jeans off, but he kept his boxer briefs on. He held me, chest to chest, and I slept.
He was gone, and my limbs felt heavy, my lips swollen. I could easily sleep the rest of the day away. I felt content until I heard the floor creak outside my door. There was a knock, and I sat up.