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)
More than that, I want him to keep my heart somewhere I’ll never find it.
I don’t want it back.
It’s his.
“The sauce is burning.”
I snap out of my thoughts. “Shit!” I run to the stove and stir it frantically. I think I saved it… Just…
“That was some deep thoughts running across your face, baby girl.” He puts his bag down by the door, shuts it, and walks to me.
“Today must be my annual thinking day,” I quip, turning the heat down on that damn sauce.
“Have you hurt yourself yet?”
“Nope. I’d say I’m doing good.” I grin over my shoulder at him. “There’s beer in the fridge if you want it.”
He hesitates. “Are you sure?”
“You’re good with beer. Opening a bottle of wine will be the problem here.”
“Okay.” He kisses my bare shoulder and grabs a bottle from the fridge. The cap comes off with a click and a quiet fizz.
“Good day?”
“My couple were all loved up. Would you believe I didn’t want to attack them with my camera stand?” He raises his eyebrows like it’s such a surprise.
“I say it once and your balls shrink like you’re naked in the Arctic. Really, Ty.” I roll my eyes and turn, the pasta pan in my hand. “Move your butt.”
Obediently, he steps to the side so I can drain the pasta. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for the L-word.”
“Llama?” I tease. “I can see how that would affect you.”
He grins. His eyes follow me as I dish dinner up. “Is this safe to eat? I mean, I’ve eaten your cooking before.”
“I’ll spank you with this wooden spoon if you don’t watch it,” I threaten, holding it up. “My cooking is perfectly fine. Not Michelin-star grade like yours, Mr. I-Can-Do-Anything, but good enough. Besides, pasta isn’t hard.”
“No,” he admits, glancing over my shoulder. “But, uh, Liv? You forgot to cook the chicken.”
I pause, my spoon hovering over one of the plates, and I glance at all the pans. Oh, fuck a duck! “Oops.”
“It’s a good thing I like saucy pasta.”
“You like anything if it’s saucy,” I retort, handing him a plate.
He grins again and sits at the table. “Especially my women.”
“Wo-man,” I correct. “Only one of me now, buddy. One bitch for the foreseeable future. Can you cope?”
His eyes sparkle. “Foreseeable future? Try forever, flighty bitch. For-fucking-ever. You’re not getting rid of me now.”
“Dammit. There I was, concocting one last plan to hook Channing Tatum.”
“He’s got nothing on me, baby girl.” He means it, too. And he’s right. “I’m one of a kind, and so are you, and that’s why we make total sense together.”
“A.K.A., we’re both kind of fucked up, but when you put us together, all our broken edges kind of…mesh together.”
“Broken edges are that way because they’re looking for the piece that can fix them. We fix each other, even if we have to jiggle about a bit until we do.” He grabs my hand and kisses my knuckles.
“I’m glad you think that way.” I curl my fingers around his cheek. “Because I want to meet your parents tomorrow. And tell them.”
He pauses. “You mean that?”
“We’re stuck with each other now,” I say more softly, rubbing my thumb across his cheek as a sense of peace settles over me. “Don’t you think they should know they’re going to be grandparents?”
The smile that spreads across his face touches every part of me. “I agree completely. I’ll call in the morning. Dinner?”
I nod. “As long as I don’t have to cook. I don’t want to scare them off entirely.”
Tyler jabs some pasta with his fork. “At least it’s not hard.”
“Well, I figured it wouldn’t be fair to have both the pasta and your cock hard tonight.”
“That so?”
“Mhmm.” I take my hand back and eat, chewing slowly.
His eyes drop to my mouth when I flick my tongue out and over my lips. Then they darken and his jaw ticks at the same time that he stabs his fork into his dinner. Even his biceps flex, although I’m pretty sure that was a conscious movement. His eyes are still fixed on my mouth as I lift a forkful of pasta to it and close my lips around the food.
I slowly draw the fork out of my mouth. I know exactly what he’s thinking. He’s thinking that he wishes the fork were his cock.
He’s thinking about how I left him hanging not six hours ago in the middle of the park right before a shoot.
He’s thinking about his promise of making me pay for it.
And I’m thinking that he should hurry the hell up about it.
“Something wrong, honey?” I ask sweetly.
“That depends on what underwear you’re wearing,” he answers without batting an eyelid.
Now I’m fucked. “Red and black that don’t match.”
“Get changed. Now.”
“I’m eating dinner.”
“I don’t care. Get. Changed.”
I stand and walk around the table, pausing next to him. “Into what? A ball gown?”