Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 48017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
“The couch folds out,” she says, sensing my thoughts. “But Brandon…” she adds, pouting up at me after a long shiver.
“Hmmm. Work huh?” I ask and she nods.
“If you’re gonna stay then you have to let me work,” she reasons, meeting me halfway.
“I can help,” I tell her, hearing how stupid that sounds, even to my own ears.
The only thing I know about dresses is how to tear them off Ashlee and as far as suits go? I only know that they come pressed from the dry cleaner.
That’s about it.
“Maybe you can help with ordering dinner?” she suggests, reaching for her purse on the work table.
Her phone spills out, letting me understand why she maybe hasn’t seen or gotten back to her mystery client yet.
With everything else going on, I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t check it until Monday at this rate.
She’s searching her purse for something. Stupid me figures it might be for a menu or local coupon or something.
But she’s trying to find money to pay for dinner. Her share of it anyway.
I could easily stare at her all day.
She jumps a little when I move over, putting both my hands over hers and her purse.
“I’m sure I had a twenty in here,” she murmurs, her hands trembling.
“Put that away,” I tell her firmly.
No woman of mine is paying for anything, let alone dinner.
“Just tell me which is your favorite and we’ll order it in,” I add, not wanting to make a big deal out of it but I can see how stubborn she can be.
Feisty.
The female version of just how pig-headed I can be sometimes.
Most of the time.
“There’s a great Italian place around the corner,” she says with an air of experience. “But I can pay my way, Brandon… I just have to find that twenty.”
She’s so certain about it I almost laugh out loud. She’s met my chivalrous thrust with her own independent parry.
She’s just so used to doing things for and by herself, and something tells me I’d better get used to the idea.
I’m not wanting to laugh to be mean or poke fun, but because I like her fire.
I’m proud of her and figure if she really wants to pay her half of dinner, I can’t stop her.
But I can make sure she never has to fish for money ever again.
“You can pay me back,” I fib, noticing a look from her that tells me she’s just remembered there is no twenty in her purse.
Spent on something else no doubt. It pains me to see her worry about something so small, but yes there was a time when even twenty bucks were the whole world to me as well.
“I thought I had it here,” she groans, looking beaten for a second until I rub her back in wide circles with my hand.
“Can I at least buy you dinner if I can’t help with anything else?” I ask.
She gives me a sidelong glance before reluctantly agreeing.
“But no funny business,” she warns me, holding up a finger of caution as I try to keep a straight face.
Her own expression seems lighter already, more relaxed.
Holding up three fingers and then crossing my heart I give a scout’s honor and my solemn promise.
I also keep two fingers crossed behind my back.
No way am I going to ever promise my girl that there’ll never be any ‘funny business’ while she’s walking around without a bra or panties on under her sweatpants and hoodie.
One thing she does have in her bag is a menu from the local Italian joint.
I swipe it from her, holding it up higher than she can reach, telling her that I’ll order for us both.
Because I know she’d only pick the cheapest thing from the menu if someone else is paying.
“I’d get to work if I was you,” I tease her, making a face as I glance over at the crumpled wedding gown, the piles of materials needing to be mended, waiting to be put together.
She picks up the wedding dress and lets out a series of gasps before she almost hugs it to herself.
“Oh my god,” she murmurs, blushing. “I can’t believe we even...”
Her smile, the shine in her eyes at the recent memory is perfect and it’s giving me a fresh beam of arousal in my pants.
“It’s not too bad, is it?’ I ask, wondering just how much more work I’ve made for her by tearing at it. But she shakes her head.
“It looks worse than it is.” She smiles, almost marveling at the evidence of her own climax which has left a large section of darkened material.
A part of me wants to keep it. To have her wear it again and again.
But I know it’s for someone else. Plus, I still have my own wedding dress project in mind.
Jeez. And to think only this morning I was focused on the number of tons of concrete required for a construction site somewhere across town.