Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
“But you’ve already been so generous,” I say, though I know it’s a feeble protest.
Especially when he lifts a brow playfully but says nothing, like he’s letting me imagine other ways he might be giving.
Oh I’m imagining, universe. I’m definitely imagining.
With an uncommon speed, he whips out his phone and taps it on the screen to pay, then gives a tip that doubles the amount.
“Thanks, man,” the Renegades fan says.
“You’re welcome.”
The sports asset management business must be a good one.
Wesley picks up both our cups, then heads toward the counter by the window, pulling out a white metal stool for me. We both sit and he lifts his cup like he’s offering it to toast. “To your friend being right.”
Tell me you know what she said without telling me you know what she said.
“I’ll…lick to that.”
“Me too,” he says with a smirk, then holds my gaze with so much confidence that my stomach flips. A blast of heat rushes through my body.
We “clink” paper cups, then he takes a spoonful of his ice cream and I do the same. He watches me the whole time with those warm brown eyes, flecked with gold. More specifically, he watches my mouth, and I like it.
When I set down the spoon, he says, “Your scar is fucking hot.”
He’s fucking hot. And blunt. I run a finger across the indentation on my chin. No one has complimented it before. Certainly not John, my longtime college boyfriend who became my post-college boyfriend since inertia kept us together till we finally petered out. “Thank you. I fell off a bike,” I say.
“When you were learning to ride?”
“Yes.” I don’t tell him I was chasing Christian as a kid. That I was trying to keep up with my big brother. That I felt like I’d tried to be like him for so long in everything. That I even tried to play hockey to be like him. But I’m not athletic. Besides, books were, and are, better companions than athletic gear. “I’m not particularly sporty, but I did end up learning how to ride.”
“So you got back on,” he says, his deep, steady voice thrumming through me, turning me on.
“I did,” I say, then take another spoonful. He does the same, then offers me his.
“Wanna try?”
“Sure,” I say, then hand him mine.
I take a lick of the balsamic strawberry. “It’s sweet, and a little tart.”
He licks the cinnamon and champagne off my spoon with an approving hum. “A little like you, I suspect, since you smell like cinnamon.”
Warmth blooms in my chest. “You noticed,” I say, but he’s a noticer, so this shouldn’t be a surprise. It’s nice though. “It’s my lotion.”
“It’s got a little kick to it,” he says.
Do I have a kick to me? In some ways, I probably do. In other ways, I don’t entirely know. But tonight is for boldness, so I add, “Like me.”
That earns me a heated grin. He takes one more bite, like he’s savoring every ounce of the treat. “And yours tastes…a little forbidden,” he says, and arousal builds in my belly. I don’t know why ice cream is forbidden to him. I don’t even really care. I just like the way he talks to me and looks at me. Like he wants to know me and eat me up.
He gives me back my forbidden cup, then says in that same heated voice, “What do you think of San Francisco so far?”
The air between us crackles. “I’m liking it,” I say, my skin tingling. We’re not talking about the city.
“Yeah, me too,” he says. “And your first night here? Is it what you imagined?”
“Nothing has been like I imagined,” I say playfully, flashing back to Big Bird and Ms. Peck. “Even the pigeon sex.”
But for the first time in a while Wesley looks thrown off. “Okaaaaay.”
Shoot. I’m pretty sure pigeon sex is not on a list of acceptable date topics. I shake my head quickly. “It’s not like that.” But what do I even mean by it’s not like that? I scramble to explain myself better. “I meant I took a video of two pigeons banging…” Nope, that’s not better.
No wonder I haven’t attempted the first item on my list before. I am a hot mess when it comes to flirting.
But Wesley doesn’t let my comment go. “You recorded the bird portion of the birds and the bees?”
“I did,” I say with a wince since it’s too late to take it back. “Do you want to say goodnight right now?”
His hand comes down on mine again, covering it, squeezing it. “No. I want you to tell me how they do it.”
With a smile and a fresh surge of adrenaline, I give him a quick overview of pigeon copulation, and soon he’s laughing. When the laughter subsides, he says, “I’m not sure how to top that. I was going to say we could check out the Golden Gate Bridge or the Palace of Fine Arts. But once you’ve seen pigeons fornicating, everything else is downhill.”