Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 290(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 290(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
“Stop, Hart. You’re going to make it worse.” I open the cream and squirt a little on my fingers. “I’m going to put this on your arms, but you can do the rest of your body.”
She nods her head. “Fine, just hurry, please.”
I rub the cream on her arms and she takes the tube from me and applies it to the rest of her body. Together we make sure to cover every bit of her rash.
When she’s all creamed up, I carry her into the living room and set her onto the couch, after lying a towel down.
“Do you want me to get you anything?” I ask her.
“My robe in the bathroom, please.”
I grab her robe, help her into it, and then I head into the kitchen to make her a cup of tea. Hartford loves her chamomile tea at night time. As the water warms, I look through her cabinets for some Benadryl. Once I spot some, I open the bottle and pull out two tablets.
“Do you like one sugar or two in your tea, Hart?” I call out to the living room.
“Honey.”
I prepare her tea, and head into the living room with the tea and Benadryl in my hands. “Here,” I say, handing her the things as I nestle down next to her.
She takes the pills, and holds her mug of tea close. “Every time we do something, it ends in disaster.”
“It’s not a disaster, Hart. It just didn’t go as planned.”
“It’s like the universe doesn’t want me to finish this assignment.”
I wrap an arm around her shoulder. “The universe has bigger things to worry about than just you and me. I don’t know what it is, but we’ll figure it out. We’ll get this article done. Don’t worry.”
Is the universe really working against us?
Chapter Thirteen
Hartford
It’s nice having Paxton taking care of me. Even if the offending feather is at fault. I want my money back.
“We need to think of something we can do together that won’t cause any allergic reactions or emergency room visits,” I say, sipping my tea.
“Yeah.”
I want to know if he was as turned on as I was, but I’m too afraid to ask. I continue to sip my tea until there’s nothing left. I set the mug on the coffee table. “Um,” the question is on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t ask it.
“What?” Paxton asks me.
“You were doing a really good job,” I tell him, beating around the bush. I glance over at him, and he repositions himself to where his arm is no longer around my shoulders.
He actually blushes, and it makes him even more attractive.
“I was getting turned on,” he admits, sheepishly.
“Really?” I ask, my skin finally settling down from the itch.
“Your body is banging,” he whispers.
I blink. “Banging, huh? Is that how you’d describe it?”
He squeezes the back of his neck, staring at me. “Definitely banging. Like if your body were a beer, it’d be top of the barrel.”
Now it’s my turn to blush. “Thank you.” I want to tell him that he’s top of the barrel too, but I can’t bring myself to say it. What if he laughs at me and tells me he meant it in the most platonic of ways?
Rules. I need to remember the rules.
This is a temporary thing.
I bound from the couch, taking my mug with me into the kitchen and setting it in the sink. “Do you just want to watch a movie instead?”
Paxton follows me into the kitchen, slapping a hand onto the counter and sucking in a deep breath. “I have to be up early to give a tour to a few people coming into town. They own a bunch of restaurants a few towns over, and we’d love to make things work. If I can land that account, it would be huge for Atta Boy.”
“Right. Okay, we can call it a night. Hopefully, we can think of something new to do.”
Paxton steps closer. “How are you feeling? Still itchy?” His eyes are warm as he studies me.
I shake my head. “No, I’m fine. I’m going to work on my article.”
Paxton heads toward the door, and I say goodnight to him.
As soon as he leaves, I return to the kitchen and slump against the counter. Why can’t we make it through one successful scene?
I grab my notebook and pen, and head for my living room. Plopping down on the couch, I open my notebook. I’ve been documenting everything from the rules we set to each disaster that has played out along the way. Since I’m covered in itchy hives, what better time to go through and recall it all?
Why not kick myself when I’m already down? I scan the words written in my notebook:
Public play with a vibrator in my panties. Sounds hot, was hot, until it malfunctioned. Getting shocked in public, while the small town watches, is mortifying. And painful. Ten out of ten—don’t recommend.