Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Archer’s teeth gently scrape the side of my neck as I remove the last treat from the baking sheet. I thoughtlessly moan and melt against his flannel shirt covered front, eyes shutting on instinct. My boyfriend delivers a tiny nip to my ear prior to whispering, “I know you taste better than those cookies, sweetheart.”
The smallest smirk slips onto my lips.
“You sure we don’t have time for me to have you while those cool?”
I could make time…No. Wait. Wrong thing to say!
I let my hungry gaze find his over my shoulder. “Not unless you want my dad sending a squad car by the house to commandeer these.”
My boyfriend backs down with a small chuckle. “I don’t think that would win me any points in the Lieutenant’s file.”
“What makes you think he has a file about you?”
The sarcastic expression I’m shot receives a loud giggle. “Good point. But it’s probably pretty empty since he still doesn’t have more than just a few basics.”
Not for lack of trying though.
“Why don’t you go put your shoes on while I package these up and then we can get going?”
He offers me a warm grin at the same time he untangles his frame from mine leaving me feeling emptier than expected. “I hope you’re prepared to lose, sweetheart. I used to be a bowling king. All balls bowed down to me.”
“I don’t think that sounds nearly as intimidating as you think it does.”
Archer immediately frowns and leans his frame against the edge of the island.
“Go finish getting dressed, Lord of the Balls.” It’s impossible not to snicker. “It’ll only take me a couple to finish up here.”
“Lord of the Flies is actually one of my favorite classics.”
“That shit was so dark.”
“Yet such a fucking amazing allegory. One that’s sadly always been relative to my life.”
The pain in the statement hits like a ton of bricks to my stomach.
Do you have any idea how heartbreaking that is?
“I like that it’s okay to tell you that.” Archer offers me a half-hearted smile. “I also like that you’ve read it, so I don’t have to spend forty-five minutes explaining it to you like other people I’ve met.”
Grinning is naturally done. “Typically it’s me who is explaining to you books for forty-five minutes.”
His hand waivers from side to side. “We’re getting to a point where we spend more time discussing rather than explaining.”
I mindlessly coo, “God, I love that.”
“I love that, too.” He tosses me a wink and slowly backs out of the room, not breaking eye contact until he absolutely must.
I also love him, but I am not dumb enough to admit that out loud. At least not yet. Probably not until after we’ve had sex, right? No. Wait. I don’t wanna be one of those women that says I love you after sex like she equates love to sex. Ugh. Why is being in a relationship so complex?! And why didn’t I face any of this shit with someone I was engaged to?!
After boxing up the white chocolate, cranberry cookies, dropping off a batch around the corner to Mrs. Tippet – who asked for some at the last HOA meeting and hired Archer to help in disassembling as well as assembling a new bookshelf she had delivered for her husband for an anniversary gift – and delivering the remaining amount to the precinct to assist in distracting Dad from prying further into my love life, the two of us finally begin our Saturday date night out.
We’re open to going out any day of the week – perk of being the only one who has to go in to work each morning – however, unless it’s dinner or the bookstore, we typically save “big outings” for Saturdays since Sundays typically consist of running errands – gym, grocery store, hardware store – or making appointments – like the physical exam we fought about him having and my routine eye appointment that became our routine eye appointment. What?! He needs his checkups. Yes, I’m aware he’s not a cocker spaniel. And I’m not dealing with him like a fucking pet. I’m treating him like a man I give a shit about and just need to know he’s okay. Inside and out.
Archer treats us to grilled sandwiches from Mo’s Mo’s – using the cash he earned from Mrs. Tippet – before we head on over to Pick a Lane, the new car themed, eighteen and up only, bowling alley.
Due to it being Saturday night, there’s a small wait, which prompts the two of us to hang out in the bar area while we wait.
We try to keep the mood light but my habit of wondering out loud if they’re hiring sparks the unpleasant argument that we don’t have to get him an application from every place we visit.
Apparently, that’s patronizing rather than helpful?