Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Have you guys not had sex yet?” Sara asks.
I decide not to change clothes. I just throw a fresh T-shirt and a clean pair of underwear into my backpack. “Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“There hasn’t been a lot of opportunity for that,” I say. “We’re always with you and Marcos. And when we’re alone, we just…we’ve done other things. Just not that.”
“Marcos and I have sex all the time. We even had sex while y’all were getting tattoos last week.”
I look at her and wince. “In the back seat?”
“Yep. Twice.”
Gross. Samson and I had to ride home in that back seat.
“Are you going to give me all the details tomorrow? Or am I just getting another lame high five?”
Sara’s been patient with me considering how little I share about certain aspects of my life, and how blunt I am in other areas. “I’ll tell you everything,” I say, right before walking out of my bedroom. “Promise.”
“I want every detail! Take notes if you have to!”
Luckily, my father and Alana are no longer in the kitchen, so I slip out of the house without having to continue to discuss the fact that I’m having sex with my neighbor tonight. I am definitely not used to having a family who discusses every single thing out in the open like they do.
Samson is waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
“Desperate much?” I tease.
He kisses me and takes my backpack. “Eager.”
We begin walking toward Samson’s house. P.J. is following us, but Samson doesn’t have a dog bed for him. “P.J., go home.” I point to the stairs. P.J. pauses for a moment. I repeat myself, and then he finally turns and goes back up our stairs.
Samson slips his hand through mine and holds it until we’re in his house. He locks the front door behind him, sets the code on the alarm and then kicks off his shoes.
I look around, wondering where this is going to happen. How it’s going to happen. It feels a little weird knowing what’s coming. I prefer spontaneity over plans when it comes to sex. Dakota treated me like I was on a strict, rotating schedule.
“You thirsty?” Samson asks.
I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
He tosses my backpack against the wall next to his backpack. He grabs my hand and twists my wrist so that he can see my tattoo. It’s been a week since we got them and both of ours healed well. It kind of makes me want another one, but I feel like I need to wait until I have a reason. Getting one with Samson felt important. I’ll wait for another important life moment before getting a second one.
“It turned out really good,” he says, running his finger over it.
“You never actually said if you liked yours.”
“I told you I loved it the night I got it. I just didn’t say it with words.” He slides his fingers through mine and leads me up a set of stairs. When he opens the door to his room, he lets me walk in first.
The balcony doors are open and there’s a breeze blowing the sheer curtains into the room. The bed is perfectly made, and I still can’t get over how clean he keeps everything. Samson flips on a lamp by the bed.
“It’s pretty,” I say, walking toward the balcony. I step outside and glance over at my bedroom. I accidentally left the light on, so I have a clear view of my bed. “You can see straight into my room.”
Samson is next to me now. “Yeah, I know. You don’t leave that light on nearly enough.”
I look at him and he’s grinning. I shove him playfully in the shoulder and walk back into the bedroom. I make my way over to the bed and sit on the edge of the mattress.
I remove my shoes and then lie down on his bed and watch him. He walks slowly around the bed, staring at me from every angle.
“I feel like I’m being circled like I’m prey,” I say.
“Well, I don’t want to be the shark in this scenario.” Samson plops down next to me on the bed, holding his head up with his hand. “There. Now I’m plankton.”
“Better,” I say, smiling.
He brushes a strand of hair over my ear with a thoughtful expression on his face. “Are you nervous?”
“No. I feel comfortable with you.”
That sentence causes concern to briefly fall over his features—almost as if he finds it uncomfortable that I feel comfortable with him. But the look disappears as soon as it appeared.
“I saw that thought,” I say quietly.
“What thought?”
“The negative thought you just had.” I bring a finger to the spot between his eyebrows. “It was right here.”
He’s quiet as he digests my words. “For someone who doesn’t know a lot about me, you sure know a lot about me.”