Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Yeah, little doll, change of plans because I like watching you smile.
“Really?”
The way her voice hitched up a notch and her gray eyes danced with pure fucking joy made me want to take her more places. I wouldn’t. That would lead to problems. More than she could comprehend. Things were unfortunate enough, and they had been for a while.
“I’ll show you your room,” I told her.
I wanted her to have the master bedroom, but I had to draw a line for myself. She was the jockey. I wouldn’t give another jockey the master. Her head needed to stay clear on what we were. My issues would stay mine alone.
I pointed to the door to the room farthest from mine. “That’s yours. Luggage will arrive soon, and you can get a shower if you’d like. But you’ll need to change into something a little nicer than jeans. A sundress, if you have one, would work.”
There was a dress code at the restaurant we were going to, but I also didn’t want her being hot outside. Her comfort was one of those odd things I couldn’t quite shake. I cared about little. Until her, that was. She made me care about shit that I’d never cared about before. If I could stop it, I would, but I’d just come to accept it.
• Fourteen •
Fantasy and reality were two very different things.
Capri
The dark gem tones of the swanky restaurant that Thatcher had brought me to set the mood for the jazz pianist in the center of the two stories of tables, which had a perfect view of the ground floor and the second, where we sat. The railing was low enough so that those seated at the circular booths overlooking the ground floor could see it all. The floor was full of tables while up here, booths were farther apart and curved so that you didn’t see the guests at other booths. Your main focus was the piano player, who sat on the center stage.
I took another bite of the grilled chicken he’d ordered. It, along with the array of grilled vegetables, was delicious.
The entire thing felt like a movie. This city felt like a movie. I couldn’t believe I was getting to see it, much less experience it the way Thatcher was providing.
“I could just eat this chicken for the rest of my life and be happy,” I said as I reached for my glass of water.
“And not have your cookies?” he asked.
I glanced over at him, wishing I had the nerve to ask him about the cookies left on my porch so many times. “Okay, so maybe not just the chicken.”
He smirked at me, and my chest fluttered. Yes, I was making a mistake with him. My attraction to him was growing, and this trip was only going to make it worse. I was battling with the belief that I wasn’t his type. Perhaps he didn’t have a type. It felt as if I had his complete attention and he’d done all this when I asked. Was that what he did with all jockeys, or was it just for me? I was scared to think he might be attracted to me. The letdown would be painful if I was wrong.
Not to mention my job. Riding for Shephard Ranch was a dream I didn’t want to mess up.
“Thatcher,” a sultry voice said, and I swung my gaze from the piano player to the gorgeous blonde who had appeared at our booth.
“Cressida,” he replied.
She placed a hand on our table and leaned closer to him. “I had to hear from my brother that you were here.” She pouted, not once acknowledging my existence.
Thatcher picked up his drink. “Just got in town,” he told her, then took a drink.
She lowered her long lashes and leaned even closer to him so that her cleavage was on full display. If she wasn’t careful, a nipple was going to pop out. “Are you busy later?”
I tried not to let this be a blow to my ego because I was trying to fulfill that goal of being happy with myself. However, the fact that this woman, who had been given all the good things when it came to looks, didn’t even consider that I could be on a date with Thatcher slapped. Which I wasn’t, of course, but she didn’t know that.
She might as well have looked at me and said, I know this can’t be a date. She’s not attractive enough.
“Depends,” he drawled, and her eyes flickered with something I really didn’t want to watch.
I turned my attention back to the piano player.
“My number hasn’t changed,” she told him. “And neither has my address.”
Thatcher said nothing, and I wasn’t watching to see what was going on.
She let out a soft laugh before straightening and leaving. He hadn’t introduced me. Not only had she ignored me, but so had he. That was worse than a slap. They both should have taken a swing at me. I would have liked that better. No matter how much I told myself I loved who I was and my body in this moment, I felt homely and plain.