Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Connell grabbed the thick bundle of blankets I’d packed, and I tucked my picnic basket under my arm as he lined the bed of the truck with quilts and pillows.
“All set,” he said, towering above me as he stood in the truck bed. He reached a hand down for me, and I passed him the basket. He chuckled but took it and settled it in the back corner before coming back for me. “Come here,” he said, hand outstretched.
I slipped my fingers in his, hiking my foot on the tailgate, but Connell easily hefted me into the truck, not a sign of struggle on his face.
“I’ve never done this before,” he said as we leaned against the pillows. The old theater screen took up the entirety of our viewpoint, an ancient cartoon concession preview dancing across it, illuminating the rows and rows of cars ahead of us. Some people had brought fold-out chairs and sat in front of their cars while others elected for the beds of trucks like Connell and myself. Laughter echoed from the aisle leading to the concession stand at the back of the lot, and I found myself smiling.
“Everyone should experience a drive-in at least once,” I said, flipping open the basket and fishing out two small plastic cups. I raised one to him, and he plucked it out of my hand. I retrieved the flask I’d packed, and poured him a knuckles length of scotch, then did the same in my glass. “Cheers,” I said, tapping the rim of his cup with mine before we both took a sip.
His eyebrows raised. “This is my favorite,” he said, and heat blazed straight down the center of me at the sight of his tongue swiping the lone drop of scotch off his bottom lip.
“Echo told me,” I said. “I wanted to make tonight special for you. As a thank you—”
“How many times do I have to tell, ye? You don’t need to thank me.”
“I know,” I said. “But I do. You’ve done so much for Sweet Water.” I smirked, tucking my cup into the opened basket before shifting fully to face him. “I guess you running into that statue could be the best thing that ever happened to our town.” I nudged him. “Lucky for me.”
He laughed softly, nuzzling the soft part of my neck before pulling back to look me in the eye. “Never thought I’d see the day,” he said.
“What?” I tilted my head.
“When you thanked me for wrecking your beloved statue,” he said. “You were so angry that day in court.”
A flush bloomed under my cheeks. “Well, you know how important this community is to me.”
“Aye.”
“And…and…I may have been rash. I thought you were reckless. I thought you didn’t care about anything but attention and a laugh.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Och.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know I was wrong.”
He shrugged. “Not entirely,” he said. “I do love making people laugh.”
I swallowed hard, my heart aching in my chest remembering the story of how he’d started making his mother laugh after his father had left them in the cold.
“I already told you about my mother, about what my dad leaving did to her.” He raked his hand through his hair. “And in school, with the jokes, I realized one crucial thing.”
“What?” I asked, my voice cracking from the truth he laid bare.
He turned to me, his blue eyes open, vulnerable. “If you’re the one making people laugh, you’re the one keeping people on their toes from pranks and stunts…they don’t look deeper. Don’t push for your backstory, and back then, my dad leaving my mother and myself, breaking her the way he did; it was the last thing I wanted to share with people.”
“And now?”
“I still don’t advertise my upbringing,” he said.
“But you shared with me.”
“You asked,” he said. “And I’ll never lie to you, Annabelle. Ever.”
My head spun at the primal promise in those words, and I didn’t have the proper ones to respond. To tell him how much that meant to me. So, instead, I used my lips in another way.
I crushed them against his, so hard and fast he dropped his empty cup as he caught me against him. His hands folded around my back as I rolled half on top of him, my mouth exploring his in a fevered hunger. He tasted like scotch and heat and pure Connell, his scent filling my lungs and making my head spin.
I tangled my fingers in his hair, flicking my tongue against the roof of his mouth. His hand slid lower until he’d found the back of my knee and hitched my leg over his hip, shifting us until we were on our sides, never once breaking the kiss that set my entire being on fire.
“Annabelle,” he sighed between my lips, and I trembled from the word, from the pressure of his incredibly hard cock I could feel through his jeans as I shamelessly rocked against it. I knew exactly what he felt like inside me, and I was certain no amount of time or distance could ever make me stop wanting him.