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)
I don’t, but… “Fitness can be similarly transformative. People think it’s all about the body, but so much of it is really about the mind and self-confidence.”
She all but bounces in her seat. “Exactly!”
I want to kiss her, badly. It’s an urge that’s been growing since the moment she landed in my arms, and I can no longer resist. Calling forth every ounce of my charm, I lean forward and pitch my voice low. “What are you doing after this?”
Her eyes widen, and a pretty blush creeps up her smooth cheeks. “I was… I—” She fumbles for her cup just as her bag drops off her chair.
She whips around, presumably to catch it, only to knock into a passing waiter carrying a tray with soup. I spring into action, reaching across the table to pull her out of harm’s way, but this time, I’m not fast enough.
The bowl tips over and directly onto her chest, covering her whole outfit in creamy liquid.
Fuck! “Are you hurt? Was that hot?” I demand.
She looks at me, her eyes wild. “No. It’s cold.”
Whew. “Thank God they forgot to warm it.”
“No one forgot anything,” the waiter says defensively. “It’s vichyssoise. It’s supposed to be served chilled.”
I glare at him. “Are you sure you should be talking?”
“You’re right,” the guy says meekly. “I’m so sorry. Needless to say, your meal is on us.”
Turning away before I give in to the temptation to smack him, I grab our table napkins and dab at the mess, at least until I realize that I’m much too close to Kendall’s perfect breasts, especially for a public place.
“Here.” I hand her the napkins. “Use these.”
She takes them with a sigh, only to toss them onto the table after a few seconds of fruitless dabbing. “It’s like cleaning a football field with a Q-Tip.”
She’s got a point. The thick soup covers her so thoroughly she’d need to run through a carwash to get clean.
“How about we swing by my place?” I suggest. “It’s across the street. You can borrow something of mine to get home.” And the fact that she’ll have to give the clothes back is an excuse for us to meet again.
She narrows her eyes. “Earlier, you said you had to take the subway to get home.”
Busted… but wait. “I never said I was headed home. Just to the subway. I could’ve been going to the Met or MoMA.”
“Both are already closed,” she says. “Try a better lie.”
“A stroll in Central Park? A Broadway show?”
“Why do all those things sound like dates?” She stands up, and globs of viscous white liquid drip onto the floor.
I grin ruefully. “Maybe because I was brainstorming where to take you the next time?”
She gestures at the mess. “I look like I’ve been on a bukkake porn film set, yet you still want there to be a next time?”
Fuck me. I didn’t make the connection before, but it does look like she’s covered in cum… which naturally makes me want to cover her in mine.
With effort, I wrench my mind away from those images. “So… do you want to change?”
She nods. “Lead the way.”
Though our meal is supposed to be comped, I throw some cash on the table on the way out.
As we cross the street and enter the elevator in my building, I tell her stories about the silly excuses I’ve heard from clients for why they don’t want to work out, like “I’m going to the bar tonight, so I won’t make our one p.m. appointment tomorrow,” or “My dog had an upset stomach, and I ended up walking her so much that I don’t need any more exercise.”
“Is that what I’m going to be?” she asks as we approach the door to my apartment. “A story about how a client fell off the treadmill and got covered in soup?”
“No.” Hopefully, this will be the “how I met you mother” story that I tell our kids.
Wait, what? Kids? Where did that insane thought come from?
Minutes ago, I was contemplating a one-night stand... and now, reproduction?
One way or another, I need to get this woman out of my head before I do something stupid. If my short and disastrous relationship with Gwyneth taught me anything, it’s that I’m not ready for a serious commitment. Not anytime soon.
Shit. Now that I’ve thought of Gwyneth, I realize that Kendall reminds me a bit of her—at least insofar as she is also the type of woman my parents would love and therefore push me toward.
“Jeesh, that was just a joke,” Kendall says. “You don’t need to get all serious.”
Fuck. “Sorry. You just made me realize that I should have something like trainer-client confidentiality, like shrinks do.”
I unlock the door to the sound of happy barking and grin as Ems looks up at me with his intelligent eyes, wags his tail for all he’s worth, and gives me a doggy grin.