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)
“We should go get that,” Ashton says. “It’s probably the groceries I ordered.”
Ah. By the time I open the door, the delivery person has left—which instantly calms Sir Ems.
Ashton picks up the shopping bags and brings them to the kitchen.
“How do you feel about tacos?” he asks when I join him.
Upon hearing the word “tacos,” Sir Ems almost jumps in joy.
“I was actually asking Kendall,” Ashton tells the dog. “But you’re going to get one, for sure.”
“What kind of tacos?” I ask.
Given what might happen after, I’m not sure I want to eat something heavy, like pork.
“Roasted cauliflower, scallops, and shiitake mushrooms,” Ashton says. “With my signature guacamole.”
My stupid stomach rumbles.
Ashton grins.
“I skipped lunch,” I explain defensively.
“Oh?” He takes out a pack of soft tortillas and crunchy taco shells. “Why?”
I explain how I got into a flow while working.
“That’s great,” he says. “Will you show me what you’ve got so far over dinner?”
“Sure.” I get my laptop and then watch in hungry fascination as he fries the shiitake, sears the scallops, and assembles the tacos with the careful expertise of a chef in a Michelin-star restaurant.
When I taste the result, I moan in pleasure. “This is insane,” I say after I swallow. “I don’t think you’re as good at training people as you are at this.”
“That’s not fair.” He gives Sir Ems a taco. “You didn’t give me a chance to train you.”
“I guess.” I taste the taco once again—and almost bite my tongue.
“Okay. Show me what you’ve been working on.” He gestures at the laptop.
So I do, starting with the initial sketches I created earlier in the day and then going into the preliminary technical designs.
“What’s next?” he asks.
“After I finish the tech packs, I’ll need to source fabrics and materials.”
“How long will the whole thing take?”
I shrug. “Depends what you mean by that. Getting to the sampling stage would usually take several weeks or longer, but I might be able to cut that down drastically if I live and breathe this project. But if you’re talking about getting something into production and then stores, that will take much, much longer, so I won’t even think about that.”
He asks for more details, and like before, he has some good ideas, especially for someone who didn’t go to a design school.
“I went to business school,” he reminds me when I question him about that. “I didn’t finish, but I learned enough. Not to mention, my own business is going well.”
“Merely well. Understatement much?”
“I’m just saying that if you need help with the entrepreneurial aspects of this endeavor, I’d be happy to assist.”
That assumes he’ll be around when such skills will be necessary, but I dare not rely on that. Not when we’re basically nemeses with benefits… who, I guess, aren’t all that much at odds with each other anymore.
“Should I make dessert?” Ashton asks.
I shake my head. “Too full. I could really use a massage, though. My neck is stiff from working all day.”
“Hold on.” He cleans up the kitchen and sticks the plates into the dishwasher before turning back to me. “Should we go to the bedroom?”
My heart rate spikes. Trying to play it cool, I glance at the dog. “Is he coming with?”
“No. But if you have a spare pillow, or don’t mind putting a couch cushion on the floor, he’d enjoy using that as a bed.”
After a moment of thought, I designate a cushion for Sir Ems, then drag Ashton into the bedroom and kiss him the way I’ve wanted to from the moment he arrived.
His smile is smug as we separate. “So… is ‘massage’ a new euphemism for fucking?”
I roll my eyes. “You’re going to do both: massage me and then fuck me.”
He rubs his hands together. “Strip and lie down on your stomach.”
* * *
I wake up in Ashton’s arms, feeling obscenely content.
“Breakfast?” he murmurs, kissing my neck. “I can whip up the crepes that I was going to make last night for dessert.”
It’s tempting, but… “Thank you, but I’ll just have cereal in front of my computer. Work is calling. And you need to go.”
“That’s dedication.” He sits up. “What are we doing tonight?”
“The birthday party,” I remind him. “I’ll text you the details.”
“Ah. Right.” He stands up, and he’s either oblivious to the fact that he’s naked, or he’s trying to make me horny on purpose. Again.
When we come out of the bedroom, Sir Ems is already waiting, tail wagging and smile contagious.
“Mind if I give him a leftover taco?” Ashton asks.
“You cooked it and brought the ingredients over,” I remind him.
Nodding, Ashton swings by the fridge and gives the food to the dog—who proceeds to set a world record for wolfing down a taco.
“All right.” Ashton leashes his best friend and walks over to the door. “See you later.”
Before my lips can form the word “goodbye,” Ashton claims them in a scorching kiss that makes me rethink the whole “I need to work” business. Sadly, I don’t get a chance to voice anything out loud because by the time I’ve caught my breath, Ashton has already left.