Total pages in book: 244
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
My stomach growls.
And eat. That too.
I only snacked yesterday, including a midnight snack after sex—pumpkin seeds and the rest of the popcorn bag and a couple of bananas. Guess we’ll need to replenish the hostess gifts for Declan’s mom soon.
But are we getting out in this snow?
The road looks pretty slushy, and we’re high up in the hills. River’s car is tiny.
I cast a glance at the man next to me, sound asleep on his stomach. His dark blond hair is a wild mess, his inked arm on display, curled above his head.
Smiling, I briefly contemplate kissing all those tattoos. Running a hand through that hair. Pressing a soft kiss to his stubbly cheek.
But that’s selfish.
If I know one thing about River it’s that he likes his sleep almost as much as he likes his dog.
He’s a Garfield, hating mornings with a passion. Makes sense, being a bar owner, working nights. I’m the opposite—mornings are my jam. My workout time, my coffee time, my get-ready-to-tackle-the-day time.
A quick look at the clock tells me it’s nearly ten though.
I never sleep that late. But I guess soul-deep sex has that effect on me. I grin wildly. Yup, and I’d like another serving please. Then another.
I swing my legs out of bed, head to the bathroom, then consider a shower. We both took a super-quick post-sex shower last night, but I’m a believer in morning showers too. Since, well, I do have a day job, and I like going to work nice and clean.
Same applies to seeing friends.
I turn on the faucet, adjust the temp, and take a speedy wake-me-up shower.
A few minutes later, I’m dried off and getting dressed.
And River’s still sound asleep.
I stand in the doorway of the bathroom, tugging on a casual button-down, enjoying the sight in front of me.
This man.
A reel of what we did in this bed last night flickers before my eyes. A jolt runs through me, and my cheeks heat.
Best sex of my life?
Yes. Yes, it was. Because it was so much more than sex. I’m reminded of what TJ said to me about the sexy times in his stories. They’re about things like intimacy, trust, opening your heart.
Last night in bed sure felt like the start of that, and today, I’ll continue it.
So, hey, River, when you asked what I was into last night, and I said you, I meant it in every way. I am so into you. I am so in love with you. I want you to be mine and I’ll be yours, and I hope you feel the same.
When I fasten the last button, I gather up our used towels, and exit the guest room. Stopping at the laundry room, I toss the towels in a hamper, then head to the living room, where I quickly straighten things up. I put board games away, then grab the BMW Blow Job Extravaganza blanket, and drop it in the laundry too.
There.
The place looks decent again, like two dudes didn’t bang all night in a bunch of the rooms.
Three rooms, to be precise.
Kitchen, living room, guest room.
Quite a triumvirate of sex, if I do say so myself. I laugh quietly, pride surging through me, then head into the kitchen to hunt for coffee, since man can’t survive on hot cocoa in the morning.
As I open the cupboards, a rattling sound hits my ears.
My phone.
I haven’t looked at it since we played Would You Rather. Grabbing the device, I spot a text notification flashing across the screen.
TJ: Better wrap up that eggplant, buddy. Tobey is on his way.
Tobey? Oh. Nisha’s cousin. With a kernel of dread digging into my chest, I click on the next one.
TJ: Also, Nisha doesn’t know you have a thing for your bud, and I couldn’t really intervene and tell her since not my place and also not cool. Ergo, I didn’t stop her from sending Tobey your way this morning. But it’s kinda your fault since you didn’t answer any of my texts last night asking how it was going. Which either meant: 1) You confessed your love and got the dicking of a lifetime. 2) You confessed it, were rejected, and promptly drowned your sorrows in a bottle of Patron, and now you’re praying to the porcelain god, and if so, I’m sorry, bud, and I feel for you. Or 3) You didn’t man up and instead played Parcheesi all night.
TJ: If it’s option three, I’m going to name my next villain after you. And by name, I mean use your first name and last name in the book. So, your answer better be one, for your own good.
The dread deepens as I click over to Nisha’s messages from this morning.
Nisha: My imaginary helicopter is still in the shop but my real one is on its way. Tobey will be there soon to pick up you and River. And I know what you’re thinking—that I only want you here for the farm veggies you’re bringing. (Truth—I’m addicted to them, and you know it, you enabler.) But mostly, I want to see you. So, I’m doing what I do best. Making it happen. See you soon, O!