Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Offense fills her muscles as she stares at the autograph. “Really? That sucks.”
“I have connections.”
She smirks. “So do I.”
Chuckling, I ask, “Wine?” I’m an evil bastard.
“Absolutely.” She stands upright and asks, “What’s for dinner? Eating brie and crackers while soaking in the tub was pretty glorious, but I’m hungry again.”
I pour the wine, still grinning. “Chicken pesto. Poppy’s specialty.” I slide the glass to her and then turn to get the dish out of the fridge. “She’s a private chef. Retired with the twins but still loves to cook.” Setting the foil pan of food on the stovetop, I heat the oven just like the directions say to do.
Cat comes behind me and peeks around. “What didn’t you think of? You’ve taken care of everything.”
Condoms. I remembered the wine and the bath products, so much food and drinks, and planning our days down to the hours. But I forgot the condoms. I don’t tell her that. I like to be prepared for action, but I’m not expecting us to make that leap this weekend. If all things go well, though, it might be back on the table. But ‘go slow’ still plays on my mind.
“Ow.” I turn to find her grinning like she’s up to no good. “Why’d you poke me?”
“Just making sure you’re real.”
“Oh, I’m real alright.” Since she can’t seem to keep space between us, I put my arm around her and pull her to my side.
“What’s going on, Faris?”
“Just making sure you’re real.”
Her arm comes around my back, holding my ribs. Leaning her head against my bicep, she whispers, “I’m real alright.”
The timer goes off, interrupting the moment. I’m not sure if we’ll get it back, so I wait a minute to hold her a little longer. I want to kiss her head like I used to, but that’s not slow, and it’s not about her. That’s about me. I get it. I even understand her request. It’s an adjustment, and it's new for me to have boundaries.
That she knows who she is and what works for her is so fucking sexy. And if I can be that guy for her, I won’t fuck it up again.
I put the pan in the oven and start the timer again. Cat retrieves her wine and walks to the window facing the lake. “How cold is it?”
“Freezing all the time, but swimmable.” I grab a beer from the fridge and toss the top in the trash on my way to join her. “Want to walk out? We have forty minutes.”
As soon as I open the door, she hightails it back to the bedroom. When she returns, she’s in a sweatshirt and sheepskin boots. How does she look so damn good in everything she wears?
Seeing her body through the clear water in the tub is a reminder. Although she had her back to me, she didn’t try to hide her body or make me look away as she bathed. She even asked me to wash her back. Slow has become the new foreplay for us.
I’m just glad she didn’t see my erection bulging against my jeans. It’s so uncomfortable and even worse when you know nothing can come of it, and you’ll be hitting one off in the shower later.
We walk out to the lake with our drinks in hand. The sun sets on the west side of the lake, reflecting off the water’s surface.
She asks, “Where are you sleeping?”
“Across the hall. There are two other rooms. I’m taking the back bedroom. It has a king-sized bed.”
“For a king,” she says, reminding me of the conversation we once had about her mattress. My memories usually resort to the bigger events where emotion plays the biggest role. So when I recall these moments of ours, I savor each of them.
She walks to the edge of the water and looks back like a kid in a candy store. “It’s so clear.” She really doesn’t get out much.
“It’s clear half a mile out. This lake is a hidden gem here in the mountains. Clean water, good fishing—”
“Privacy from the world always watching?”
It’s nice to just exist without a camera on me. “It’s a perk.”
“Will you take me swimming tomorrow?”
I could crack a joke about yoga on a paddleboard helping that wish come true, but she seems confident and didn’t bat an eye at that activity listed on the schedule. “We can do that.”
The sun has just about set as we take sips and listen to nature sing its chorus—leaves rustling in the breeze, the lake lapping at the shore, and the birds that have come out to find their dinner singing in the trees above.
I watch strands of her hair blow around her neck and tickle the side of her face. She eventually pulls the long strands into a mess of a knot on her head. “Why didn’t we date in high school?” I ask.