Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 99623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
The water is the perfect temperature and the perfect pressure. I could give up baths if I had access to this glorious shower every day.
Then again, the tub looks even more amazing. Definitely better than the one we have in our suite on campus. Though, I should probably be glad we even have a tub at all.
I make quick work of washing, even though I could easily spend eternity in here, especially with his scent soaking into my every pore.
Oh, God, I’m going to smell like him all day. How am I supposed to act normal when I’m going to be tempted to sniff myself randomly?
It’s not until I am wrapped up in one of his fluffy gray towels that I realize I don’t have my clothes in here with me. Which leaves me with two options: I can either face him with only this towel for cover, or in my bra and last night’s shirt, because putting on my dirty panties is a no-go.
Finally, I decide the shirt and bra is the lesser of two evils, and slip them both on before wrapping my hair in the towel.
With my panties balled up in my fist, I unlock the door and step out into his bedroom. Luckily, he hasn’t returned. As I walk down the hall toward the kitchen, cool air swishes between my legs, reminding me just how vulnerable I am in this moment.
“All clean?” he asks, smirking, when he sees me.
“Yup. Just need my clothes.”
He captures his bottom lip between his teeth as he rakes his gaze over me. The sweltering twin flames in his eyes heat me from my core, outward. I shift on my feet, rubbing my thighs together to soothe the ache his unfaltering stare is igniting.
“Better hurry,” he growls, sounding very much like the apex predator I know he really is. “Better hurry before I decide you sound like a better breakfast.”
A startled squeak escapes me as I lunge for my clothes on the bar, before turning and hightailing it back down the hallway and into his bathroom.
My chest heaves, both from fear and arousal. How is it he can elicit such a response from me? After Rob, just the thought of a man touching me made me feel sick, but with Sterling, I want it. I want him.
The realization robs me of what little breath I have left. I’m not just mildly attracted to him. I’m downright into the man. I trust him, and if given time, I could see myself falling for him, for my former bully.
Definitely an alternate reality. It’s the only plausible explanation.
* * *
“Inside or out?” Sterling asks as we approach our destination, a cute little local place called The Blue Plate.
It takes me a second to process his question; my head is up in the clouds, a million miles away, trying to understand how I got from point A to what feels like point Q.
“Outside, please. It’s such a pretty morning.”
He snags two menus as we head to an open table.
“What’s good here?” I slide my eyes over the menu, slightly overwhelmed by how good everything sounds.
“The pancakes are amazing. But so is the breakfast burrito.”
“Which are you getting?”
“Pancakes for sure.”
“Then I’ll get the burrito.”
“Anything to drink?” a blue-apron-clad server says, appearing seemingly out of nowhere.
“Coffee, please,” Sterling says smoothly as he passes her our menus.
“You got it.”
We chatter mindlessly, talking about small, silly things until our drinks arrive. Except along with our carafe, comes the very unwanted feeling of being watched. It makes my skin crawl, and Sterling notices.
“Are you okay?”
I wrap my arms around myself and discreetly look around. Nothing jumps out as unusual, but the feeling persists. “Yeah. Um.” I laugh uncomfortably. “I’m going to sound crazy, but it just...feels like someone’s watching us.”
Sterling stands and scans the surrounding area, but he, too, comes up empty. “I don’t know. I don’t see anyone.”
“Yeah. Sorry. I get a little paranoid sometimes. It’s dumb.”
I expect him to laugh, or maybe to poke fun at me, but he doesn’t. Instead, concern sparks to life, sharpening his gaze as he leans toward me over the tabletop. “It’s not dumb. You’ve been through hell. You’ve experienced unthinkable terror at the hands of someone you should’ve been able to trust. Baby, I’m amazed by the simple fact you’re still here and working your ass off to support and help others in similar situations. You’re taking your tragedy and turning it into something beautiful. You’re beautiful. And—fuck. I got sidetracked.”
He laughs under his breath and tucks a wayward strand of hair behind my ear before leaning back into his seat. “My point was, it’s totally understandable for you to have a little PTSD. It’s not dumb.”
I can feel tears well, not because I’m sad, but because for the first time ever, someone from my past is on my side. Someone has my back. It feels better than I ever imagined. “Thanks,” I whisper.