Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
I didn’t know if he was looking at me waiting for me to protest or to question why he’d just chosen the middle cushion, which was the spot nobody chose unless they had to—it wasn’t as broken in and you didn’t have an armrest—but I didn’t do either.
Keeping his eyes, I bit into my spring roll, sharing around my mouthful, “Still warm. You’re lucky.”
Jamie’s gaze lowered to my mouth, his lips twitched, then his eyes met mine again. “Fuckin’ right I am,” he replied.
My cheeks heated. I knew he was not referring to being lucky in terms of the food. And before I reacted any more to hearing that, I broke eye contact and shoved as much spring roll into my mouth as possible.
We ate our dinner with the game muted, talking about random things. His sister, where she lived, and if she’d be visiting again soon. He didn’t know the answer to that last one, but she lived four hours away in the same town as his parents. Jamie told me about his lessons that day, and I told him about the staring match Stitch and Shay competed in when she took an order back that was wrong and was forced to speak to the man she was hell-bent on ignoring.
After we were finished eating and the leftovers were put away, we watched the rest of the game unmuted. I fell asleep sometime after the seventh inning stretch, my head starting out on Jamie’s shoulder and then getting moved to his chest when he pulled me down and stretched out on the couch, putting me between him and the back cushion and situating me so I was partially lying on top of him.
Belly full of food and horizontal with a good-smelling man under me, I couldn’t fight it. I dozed pretty quickly after that.
My eyes fluttered open when I felt cool satin underneath my legs and a sheet being pulled up my body. I was in my bed. I turned my head on the pillow and watched Jamie move toward the door.
“You’re leaving?” I asked, sitting up and gripping the covers to my chest. I swore I didn’t sound panicked. I was just curious. And maybe a little surprised.
But when Jamie turned his head to look at me, I knew he was hearing emotions in my voice I was sure weren’t there. He didn’t speak. Looking away, he closed the door instead of walking through it, and then he started removing his clothing.
“It’s fine. I was just asking,” I said, watching Jamie step out of his shorts and lay them across the bottom of the bed where his shirt was, having already discarded that.
He walked around the bed and climbed in beside me, wearing only his briefs.
“Really, Jamie. I’m not asking you to stay.”
“You want me here. I’m stayin’.”
His hand reached out. I felt it curl around my hip, then I was being pulled closer and turned so I was facing away, his arm wrapping around my waist and his legs pushing mine to bend.
“I never said—”
“Babe, shut up,” he interrupted. I felt his lips press down the line of my neck to my shoulder. He drew in a slow, deep breath. “Be leavin’ you early in the mornin’. I had to move my lessons up ’cause of shit I got goin’ on, so if you wake up and I’m not here, that’s why.”
“Is that why you were heading out?” I asked, blinking into the darkness of my bedroom.
“Yeah.”
“What sort of … shit do you have going on?”
Jamie’s breath burst against my shoulder.
“What? That’s what you called it,” I said, knowing he was laughing at me for repeating his term for the obligations he had.
“Sweet when you say it, though,” he told me, then his arm gave me a squeeze as my lip curled up.
I was totally blushing. Thank God I was facing away.
“I got an interview with Rail Magazine after lunch,” Jamie informed me. His tone casual. “Last year that shit took all afternoon and I had to cancel on people. I’m not tryin’ to have that happen again, so I’m gettin’ started early.”
I caught the last bit of his statement looking into the shadow of his face, which was peering above my shoulder, seeing as my neck was craned and I’d turned my head as far as I could comfortably turn it.
“You’re being interviewed by a magazine?” I asked. I could hear the wonder in my voice. Wow. How cool was that?
“Yeah,” he answered, still just as casual. “It ain’t a big deal.”
“Like, a real magazine?”
“Pretty fuckin’ legit, yeah. You surf or follow the sport, you know Rail. They’ve been around since the fifties.”
I blinked, thinking on that. Huh.
I really needed to start checking out the other magazine sections at Barnes & Noble. I typically stuck to Women’s Interest when I browsed.