Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 131888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
With a nod, she climbed in and shut her door while he circled the Mercedes and slid in on the other side. Once he closed the passenger door, the interior became dark and quiet.
“Music?”
“No.” Nox pulled a long breath in through his nose and leaned his head back, closing his eyes to simply enjoy the alone time with her. And the peace and quiet after sixteen grief group members spilled their guts, shed some tears and shared a few laughs.
He understood that some people had to talk things out. He was not one of them.
Proof was him breaking down in Liyah’s kitchen about a month ago. That had been ugly, and he never wanted that to happen again.
“Hey,” she whispered. Reaching over, she snagged his hand and pulled it into her lap. After intertwining their fingers, she gave them a gentle squeeze.
Between that and hearing her pull in a deep breath of her own, he braced. Because unlike him, it meant she was gearing up for something.
Something he might not want to discuss or deal with.
“I hesitate to bring this up, but…”
Just as he thought.
“You’ve done a complete one-eighty since I first met you. Are the appointments with the therapist helping you?”
His brow wrinkled. “The therapist?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Yes, the one you were forced to see. That one. Remember?”
How could he forget the one he kept cancelling his appointment with? Though, she didn’t need to know that.
He also hoped that Jamison and Crew wouldn’t find out that Nox had been skipping out on part of his “ultimatum.” The only thing they should worry about was that he was getting better. He was achieving that without going to a therapist every week. “No, he’s not helping at all.”
“Then what is?”
“You want the truth?”
“Of course I want the truth.” She burned a hole into the side of his face with her stare.
He twisted to face her. “It’s you.”
She frowned. “What’s me?”
“You have been helping me, not my therapist.”
“You mean the grief group.”
He shook his head. “No, I mean you.”
“What have I done? I know it can’t be my bomb-ass pussy.”
His jaw dropped slightly before he gathered himself. “Then you don’t give yourself enough credit.” Though, it had been too long since he got a little of that bomb-ass pussy therapy.
“Wow. I guess I’m changing lives one cock at a time.”
Since they were goofing around… “Have you ever had more than one at a time?”
“Have you?”
He chuckled. “I don’t swing that way.”
“Neither do I. One dick is more than enough to deal with.”
“Am I a dick?”
“No, but you have a very nice one.”
His head jerked back. “Hold up. Do women rate dicks?”
“Of course.”
Why was he only hearing about this now? At forty. “On what scale. One to ten?” If true, he could’ve used this information when he was younger and on the prowl.
“Yep.”
“And where does mine fall?”
She dropped her eyes to his crotch and pressed a long nail to her lips as she pretended to think really hard. “Mmm. I’d rate yours at a 9.435.”
“Oh, I see… I merit fractions.”
“Well, I haven’t seen a perfect ten yet.”
He fought the twitch of his lips. “Are you actively searching?”
“No.”
“Will you accept a dick that’s less than a perfect ten?”
“Depends on who it’s attached to.”
“If it’s attached to someone like me?”
When she shrugged, his lips finally twisted into a grin. “I can make an exception.”
“Well, thank fuck for that,” he teased.
She leaned closer and brushed the back of her knuckles down his cheek. “You’re not bad for an exception.”
“Depends on who you ask.”
“I’m going with my own opinion. I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”
“Then, I like the way you think.”
“Though, my memory is a bit weak,” she continued, “and it’s been a while since I’ve seen it. I might have to check it out again to make sure my rating’s still accurate.”
“Do you want me to whip it out right here and now? Do I need to do a rub and tug first to get the best assessment?”
She laughed. “No one wants to see a deflated pink worm.”
“Snake. Not a worm.”
“Just be glad I didn’t say button mushroom.” She lifted a finger and released his hand she’d been holding in her lap, “Before you expose yourself like a pervy flasher, I have something for you…” and twisted around to grab something from the back seat.
Her ass, raised high in the air, tempted him as she stretched for whatever it was.
“That looks delicious,” he murmured.
“I know, right? I spent a good amount of time on it.”
“Sitting on it or doing squats?”
“What?” When that luscious rear-end plunked down in the driver’s seat again, she held a large round plastic container. “No, this.”
He mourned the loss of her ass practically smashed into his face. “What’s that?”
“The birthday cake I promised you. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to give it to you on the actual day.”