Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 97574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
I stand. Wrap my arms around Indie. "And here I was going for dapper."
She releases me. Smiles. "You're just too pretty."
"Not compared to you."
She watches the waitress leave. "She was flirting with you."
"Women always flirt with me."
"Should I be jealous?" She reaches for the chair.
I shake my head. Motion to the booth.
She nods of course. Sits.
I take the spot next to her. Stay close enough my knee brushes hers. Close enough I feel the heat of her skin. Even through the thick fabric of my slacks.
I slip my hand around her waist. Pull her into a slow kiss.
Her hand goes to my chest. Her fingers dig into my shirt, pressing the soft fabric into my skin.
My head spins. My thoughts cloud.
I need her.
I almost believe I love her.
But I don't. I'm not capable.
She pulls back with a sigh. Looks around the restaurant, suddenly shy.
"It's quiet here," I say. "We can talk about anything."
She nods with understanding. "What would we talk about? If someone was listening?"
It's a fair question. Soon, we'll be dining with friends and colleagues. Attending larger events.
Those don't worry me.
Dinner with her sister, Ian, even my cousin Cam—
They know us. Know what we look like happy.
It matters if they catch us in a lie.
If we lose their trust.
"We've been dating in secret a few months," I say.
"We have?"
I nod. "There must be happy memories."
"Ah, yes." She nods. "I loved that day in April. We were caught in the rain. Went into a coffee shop to get warm. Gave up on drying off to go back to your place and made love."
"Made love?" I raise a brow.
"We went to your place to fuck." Her eyes meet mine. "So you could fuck me."
My balls tighten.
"Is that more appropriate?"
"Truer."
"It never happened."
"It could."
Her eyes flit to my lips, chin, shoulders, thighs. "Is that the reputation you want?"
"A man who satisfies his wife?"
"Is that what people will say?"
No. Of course not.
It doesn't matter what she thinks, what she wants, how badly she craves a rough touch—
People will come to their own conclusions.
When someone like Shep—a CFO from a respected family, who's also the spitting image of Prince Eric—gains a reputation for a rough touch, it's fun gossip.
When it's someone like me—
It's still fun gossip. But instead of boys will boys, it's you know what those people are like; they're animals.
She's right, but I'm not going to claim I make love. That's ridiculous.
"What would you call it?" I ask.
"Who would ask?"
"Your sister?"
"Sienna is obsessed with sex."
"So you'd tell her?"
"Of course not." She brings the glass to her lips. Marks it with her lipstick.
"If a friend asked?"
"Meghan… this girl at the bar, she's the closest thing I have to a good friend. We go dancing after work sometimes. But I wouldn't trust her with this."
"What kind of music?"
"Anything."
"You still love everything?"
"Yes. But you know my favorite."
"Wounded female singer-songwriters?"
"They're all wounded. They have to be," she says. "Or they're pushed into pop music. Women are either spilling their guts or praising partying."
"Are men different?"
"Probably not."
"But they don't move you?"
She smiles. "Are you going to bring up The Kinks again?"
"They're iconic."
"I appreciate it. For what it is." Enthusiasm spreads over her expression.
She still adores music.
Fuck, it does something to me. Something I haven't felt in a long time.
"I have found some new favorites," she says. "I only listen to Back to Black twice a day now."
"It always makes me think of you."
"You listen to Amy Winehouse?"
"She's British."
"You don't say?" she teases.
"We're proud of our singers."
"Even when your paparazzi pushed them to destruction?"
"Especially. Who's more loved than Princess Di?"
She stares at me, feigning confusion.
"I know. Before your time."
"You explained it to me." She smiles. "I get it. Kind of."
The waitress interrupts with her drink. "Another?" When I nod, she looks to Indigo. "And are you two dining with us tonight? Or just the drinks?"
Indigo's eyes find mine. She raises a brow. "You haven't ordered yet."
"I didn't want to be presumptuous."
Her lips curl into a sly smile. "We'd love menus when you have a chance. And water. Thanks."
The waitress nods and disappears.
Indigo motions to her drink. "I owe you a sip."
"I still have half of this one."
She nods so you do. Wraps her fingers around her drink. Takes a long, slow sip.
"What do you do? When you aren't listening to music?"
"Or dancing with strange men?"
"Do you?"
"Does it make you jealous?" When I don’t answer, she smiles. "What a hypocrite."
Yes, but no sense dwelling on that. "What else do you do?"
"Mostly, I hang out with Sienna. She makes me jog. Even during soccer season." She sticks out her tongue in distaste. "But she cooks after. And she's a wiz with pasta."
My lips curl into a smile
Someone is taking care of her.
Someone loves her.
She needs that.
I need her to have that.
"Then, we'll watch TV," she continues. "Sometimes a rerun of something trashy. 90 Day Fiancé or America's Next Top Model. Mostly soccer." She laughs. "It's football, I know. I forget that about you."