Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 203847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1019(@200wpm)___ 815(@250wpm)___ 679(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 203847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1019(@200wpm)___ 815(@250wpm)___ 679(@300wpm)
If I did, I might just be willing to explore that submissive side of her a little more, and I don’t explore.
My panties aren’t wet.
They should be. While I’m sitting across the table from Mr. Jackson Sands, my ex-boss, my panties should be dripping. And they’re not.
There’s no sizzle. No boom-boom. No tingly spine or somersaulting stomach.
Well, this is fucking disappointing, isn’t it? I’ve only crushed on the guy since he became my manager a year and a half ago. I’ve only wanted in his pants since he walked through the goddamn door. And now that we’re on a date, that crush has disappeared, right along with my attraction.
Lost: one libido. If found, please return to my lonely, attention-deprived vagina.
I suppose I should be thankful that this is the end of the date—and that there is no attraction. Jackson doesn’t strike me as a no-strings kind of guy. That doesn’t wash with me. I hate strings. Strings make things sticky.
It’s kind of a shame though. I mean, he wouldn’t be a bad guy to have strings with. So what if his messy, dark-blond hair and pair of blue eyes are more fitting of California than Seattle? He’s stable. Steady. On one course without any intention of veering off—unlike me.
I get the feeling that, if Jackson hit a crossroads in his life, he’d know exactly which turn to take. Me? I’d dance around like a motherfucking fairy and change my mind ten times.
“So, I’ll call you?” Jackson says, moving some hair from my face.
Damn. The ‘call you’ question. “Sure,” I reply, trying to sound perky. Is it bad that I’m trying to work out how quickly I can change my number? Oh, god. It’s so bad. So, so bad.
“Great.” He smiles and dips his face toward mine before I can turn away. His lips touch mine, soft and warm but…boring. Huh.
I grip his shirt and step into him. Waiting, hoping, for something… Something sizzly. Sparky. Va-va-voomy. When, after a minute of brushing lips, my body is as flat as it was ten minutes ago, I move away.
“Thanks for tonight. It was fun.” I smile and duck into my taxi before he can say another word. Oh, god.
What kind of person lusts after someone for a year and a half then suddenly doesn’t?
Me.
There’s no reason I should be surprised. I bolt at the first sign of anything stronger than one night. I guess my hormones finally got that memo.
I lean back into the seat and stare out the window. Yes, it’s for the best that my vagina forgot to clench and get all excited when he walked into the restaurant. After all, he was late. Who’s late to a date? That’s my job.
I’m totally trying to justify this bullshit turn of events.
I throw a couple of bills into the driver’s lap and get out of the car to his call of, “Thanks, darlin’!” I let myself into my apartment block and press the elevator button repeatedly. Stupid thing is so slow.
“Now, if you’re home, I know that date was bullshit, darling.”
I turn at the sound of the disappointed voice and grin at Sean. “You have no idea. It’s like having sex and getting no orgasm at the end of it.”
“On the contrary, I think that’s exactly what happened.”
“What? No. I didn’t have sex with him.” I step into the elevator after him.
“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” He examines his reflection in the mirrored walls. I smack his arm.
I smack his arm. “Are you calling me a slut?”
“Never.” He flashes a smile at me. “What happened?”
I sigh as the doors open. “Jackson wasn’t all that after all. He was late, he tried to order for me, and the pre-cab kiss was all…lackluster. It was like having my first kiss all over again.”
Sean smacks his lips together. “I think your problem is Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome.”
A low flutter erupts in my lower stomach at the mention of Mr. TDH. And don’t forget the Oh So British. I clap my hand over my tummy to stop that stupid feeling.
“Yes. He’s my problem. The guy whose name I don’t know but fucked anyway. I forgot the part where he’s consuming my every thought.”
Sean shrugs and opens his apartment door. “Wine?”
Well, I’m not turning down that offer after Disaster Date #768. Sometimes, living opposite a gay guy with a wine collection bigger than my shoe collection is really good for the soul. Not so good for the liver, admittedly, but good for the soul.
I close his door behind me and kick off my shoes, dumping my purse unceremoniously on the floor next to the nude heels. Sean’s sofa creaks as I fall back into the plush leather and swing my legs up.
He shoots me a dirty look and hands me a glass of wine. I take it with an eye roll.