Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
I’ve avoided all the things most people feel are mundane but necessary, and it’s been rather easy to do because I had people that did it for me. A simple text expressing a need and it was at my door within the hour. I utilized that power every single day until everything fell apart.
“I showed you how to use the espresso machine and you still nearly caught the house on fire this morning. There’s no way I’d even consider letting you close to a stove.”
“So you’re going to cook?”
“Fat fucking chance, Bremen.” His tone is teasing, but I also know he’s being serious.
We’re not going to spend hours in the kitchen laughing and joking while I try not to ruin dinner. Not that I’ve pictured that at any point in time…
I sigh as we continue through the produce section.
He hasn’t once brought up the kiss in the car room in the last couple of days, and I can only see that as him trying to put that awkward encounter behind him.
“Explain why we couldn’t go to the store closer to my house? Does this place have better food?”
“You said you were tired of junk food. This is an organic food store.”
I scoff. “Sounds like everything will taste like cardboard.”
“There were more chemicals in the tacos you had delivered yesterday. Plus, there’s more of a chance of the paps spotting us here.”
“Because they’re so interested in what I buy to eat?” I look around the store for the first time, trying to spot someone with a long lens.
“You’d be surprised what makes the news these days,” he mutters.
“And people online are taking a poll of whether I use two-ply toilet paper or a bidet?”
“I think you would like these,” Brooks says, pointing to a pyramid of oranges as his other hand rests on my lower back.
He’s kept very close to me during this little shopping trip, but this is the first time he’s touched me.
I resist the urge to lean into his warmth and fail miserably. These are the types of vibes I’ve been getting from him that I mentioned the other day. If he was completely standoffish, I never would’ve kissed him.
Okay, maybe that’s not the full truth, but I would’ve been a little more resistant to the idea if I didn’t catch him watching my mouth when I spoke.
“False alarm,” Brooks says, pulling away from me. “Just a guy with a product scanner.”
I deflate as he pulls away, watching him as he grabs a couple of the oranges he pointed to.
By the time we make it down the next aisle, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s his life’s mission to drive me insane.
“Do you like granola?” he asks as he points to what has to be a sixteen-foot section of shelving dedicated to nothing but different types of crunchy snacks.
“Don’t these companies know anything about branding?” I ask, looking at the plain packaging. “Surely their marketing departments realize there are more colors in the rainbow.”
“The simplicity is the brand,” Brooks says as he steps forward and grabs a package from the shelf, turning it over to read the back.
“Gross,” I say, reading the ingredients over his shoulder. “I hate mango.”
His head lifts, his eyes finding mine before looking over my shoulder.
I see it before it happens this time. I debate whether I should just take a step back and reject him, but I’m so stupidly desperate for any amount of attention, I’m ready for the fake show of affection.
What I’m not ready for is him bending down and burying his nose in my throat rather than pulling me to him to do the same even though our height differences would make it easier.
His big palm presses against my back, his pinky finger landing against the bare skin of my back where my t-shirt has ridden up.
You’d think he just sucked my cock into his throat with how my body responds to him, and because I’ve never been one to leave well enough alone, I wrap my arms around him and get two handfuls of his muscular ass.
He chuckles, the warmth of his laughter sending chill bumps radiating over my skin. I press myself closer.
“I feel that,” he says, but his tone is teasing and not the slightest put out.
“It’s just an erection,” I mutter, my lips brushing his temple as I wiggle my hips a little more.
“Stop,” he chastises, and I want to cry when he pulls his face away. “He’s gone.”
And then he’s right back to reading the fucking ingredient list on a bag of fucking ho-hum granola.
It’s fake, all of it. I knew it was. I remind myself of it constantly, but that still doesn’t stop my heart from fluttering each time he steps close to me.
This would probably be easier if he was the growly dick he was the first day I met him, but no, the man has to smile and joke with me, treating me like just another person rather than feeding into the status my name carries.