Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 45573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 228(@200wpm)___ 182(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 228(@200wpm)___ 182(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
His eyes widen, and I move in the last few inches. Instead of his cheek this time, I press my lips to his, and on contact, my eyes close as a thrill shoots through my body. His hand comes up and cups the nape of my neck, holding me to him. He deepens the kiss, and when his tongue strokes along mine, a whimper of need escapes me.
When he pulls back, his eyes are glazed over, and he looks proud of himself. I’m not wearing lipstick, but I run my finger along the side of his mouth, just wanting to touch him.
He turns, pressing his lips to the tip of my finger before covering my hand with his. He holds it to his cheek and leans into it. “I’ll cook for you every night if this is the thanks I get.”
A laugh bursts out, and I’m shaking my head. “Let’s see how the food tastes first.”
He holds his chest. “Oh, wow, okay, you’re testing me, right? It’s all good. I’m confident in my abilities. I may not be able to do a lot, but I can cook.”
I reach into the pan and put a serving on his plate before putting one on mine. Biting on to my lip, I don’t even try to stop myself. “I don’t know. I’m sure there’s other things you’re good at.”
The fork he has in his hand drops and rattles against the table, and I smile. If nothing else, I have the man on his toes. I press my hands to my hot cheeks. I never knew flirting could feel this good.
CHAPTER 13
JASON
She’s flirting with me.
So far, I can’t imagine the night getting any better. We eat, and we both take turns talking about our day. She tells me about her appointments and her eighty-year-old client who is a spitfire. I tell her about my new therapy.
“You made something today? With a saw?”
I don’t have to see her face to know she sounds worried. I hold my hands up. “It’s all good. See, I still have all my fingers. It was amazing, really.”
“Well, what did you make? I want to see it.”
My cheeks get hot. “It’s not a big deal,” I tell her, thinking about the little paper towel holder that most fourth graders could make on their own.
“Jason Hawk, you’re kidding me right now. I want to see it. What is it?”
I grit my teeth. “It’s a paper towel holder. Trust me, it’s not a big deal.”
She must look around the room for it because she says, “I don’t see it. Where is it?”
“I sanded it and stained it today. It’s drying at the shop.”
“Next time, then. I want to see it next time.”
I should still be embarrassed, but I’m not because all I can think about is the fact that she said there’s going to be a next time.
When there’s a lull in the conversation, I ask her, “Well, what do you think?”
She laughs. “It’s so good. I feel like I’m shoveling it in because it's so good. Where did you learn to cook like this?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I never cooked until the last two years, and then I found it’s easier to do that instead of going out all the time.”
“Well, this has to be the best chicken parmigiana I’ve ever eaten.”
I eat a few more bites, and even though I’m enjoying it, I enjoy talking to her even more. After dinner, we work side by side, packing the food up, putting the dishes in the dishwasher, and cleaning up.
We hold hands as we walk into the living room, and I’m happy when she sits on the couch right next to me. “Sooooo,” she starts.
I’ve put off the question I’ve wanted to ask her since she walked in the front door, but I can’t any longer. “How was your date last night?”
She’s quiet, and I know I’ve done something wrong. “Liv…”
My thoughts are all over the place. Did he take her home with him? Did she let him touch her? Did she agree to another date? Did he kiss her? And the longer her silence is, the more I start to freak out.
“What are you thinking about right now, Jason?”
I open my mouth to answer, but she interrupts me. “You think I’m a slut, don’t you?” She says it laughingly, but I can hear the pain in her voice.
“Why would you say that?”
Her voice gets softer, and I can feel her physically lean away from me. “I don’t know. I was out with one man last night and then you tonight…”
I shake my head. “I don’t think you’re a slut.”
“That was our second date,” she says, and I don’t know why she feels she needs to remind me because that thought has played over and over in my head since she told me.