Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 65939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
No. Way too crazy. Even if this is a date, it would be our first, and I don’t have sex until I get to know a person.
“Delicious,” he murmurs.
I blow on my chamomile tea again. My plan is to gulp down the tea as soon as it cools and pray that it calms my overactive libido. Clearly, just reminding myself that men are dogs isn’t cutting it anymore.
“So,” he says. “Tell me a little bit about yourself.”
That makes it official. This is a date.
“Like what?” I ask, my heart pounding at the realization.
He shrugs. “Do you have any siblings?”
“Yeah. An older brother, Cameron. He’s the reason boys were afraid to ask me out in high school.” At least that’s what I tell myself because it’s better than the other possibility: that no one wanted to date the awkward geek from the marching band. “How about you?”
He smiles. “A younger sister, Jordan. She probably has the same complaint about me that you have about your brother, but in my defense, I’ve only beaten up one of her boyfriends, and the asshole deserved it.”
If Jordan had boyfriends, plural, then it’s not like my situation at all, but I’m not admitting that.
“Are you a native New Yorker?” I ask.
I feel like he isn’t, but I’m not sure why.
“Nope. What about you?”
I shake my head. “I grew up in Connecticut.”
His eyes twinkle. “Why do people from Connecticut always give their state as the place where they’re from?”
I roll my eyes. “And where are you from?”
“Boston. Notice how I didn’t say ‘Massachusetts.’”
That tracks. He doesn’t have the signature accent, but something must’ve given him away. “When I tell people I grew up in Berlin, they assume I’m talking about the one in Germany, not Connecticut.”
“Ich falle aus allen Wolken,” he says.
I narrow my eyes. “Did you just put a curse on me in German?”
He grins. “It means, ‘I didn’t expect that’ or something similar. The literal translation is ‘I fall from all clouds.’”
Huh. “You’re German?”
“No. I’m a European mutt, with maybe one percent German blood—if that. But I did take German back in college.”
So he did go to college. Called it.
“What about you?” he asks.
“I’m also a mutt. According to a DNA test, I have some Russian, Native American, English, German, and Irish in me.”
“Do you know any other languages?”
“I took Spanish in school, but don’t ask me to say anything.”
He flashes a white grin. “I wouldn’t be so cruel.”
Damn it. He’s done nothing sensual in the last minute, nor has he said anything profound, but I’m falling deeper and deeper into this romantic rabbit hole of a date.
Grabbing my now-cooled chamomile tea, I gulp it in desperation.
This is it.
I see two unequal options playing out in front of me. One—the less likely—is that this tea will magically calm me down.
The other—and way more likely—is that I’ll end up in his bed by the end of the night.
Chapter 6
Ashton
When I waited for Kendall outside the gym, I was confident I’d be able to coax her to go on a date with me, but I had no idea I’d have such a great time on said date.
Or that I’d be this fucking turned on.
No. Scratch that. The latter doesn’t surprise me, not after that workout.
“You mentioned college,” she says. “What did you major in?”
Fuck. This isn’t my favorite topic. “My undergraduate degree is in economics.”
No. Wait. Why did I say “undergraduate?” Obviously, she’ll—
“You went to grad school as well?”
She sounds impressed, and I only have myself to blame.
“Business school,” I admit reluctantly. “But I’m taking a break from it.”
“Taking a break” sounds better than “dropped out of my MBA program,” right?
She cocks her head. “When are you going back to it?”
My smile is forced. “You sound like my parents,” I say, trying to keep it light.
I should’ve guessed she’d be one of those women who think being a personal trainer is not a real job.
Even in the gym uniform, she looked like a million bucks. Dressed in street clothes, she’s the epitome of high fashion, one of those effortlessly stylish women you encounter in the Hamptons or on the Upper West Side. Or in my parents’ circle—but that’s not an association I want to have with her.
Either way, she probably dates investment bankers, doctors, and lawyers, not gym trainers like myself.
Kendall must pick up on some tension because she winces and says, “Sorry, didn’t mean to touch a sore spot.”
I shrug and take a deep breath, ready to change the subject. “What about you? What was your major?”
I don’t bother asking if she’s gone to college. Everything about her screams it.
“Fashion design,” she says. “And I just applied for an MFA program in the same thing.”
“You want to be a fashion designer?”
She certainly dresses the part.
Her eyes glint excitedly. “I do. Fashion can be so transformative, don’t you think?”