Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
He drops his hand and turns to the bathroom. “Enjoy the room tonight. Order room service, whatever you want. I’ll be back late.” He shuts the door, and the next thing I hear is the spray of the shower.
His phone buzzes on the bedside table, and I look at it without thinking. A preview of a text from someone named Peony pops up on the lock screen.
Are we still on for nine? I need to get . . .
Who’s Peony? And what does she need to get?
I’m tempted to guess his passcode so I can read the rest of the message, but if he caught me, he’d never let me live it down. I collapse back on the bed. Leave it to me to fall for a guy who is so emotionally unavailable.
I stare at the ceiling until he emerges from the shower in nothing but a low-slung white towel. Then I only try to keep my eyes on the ceiling but keep watching him move around the room to gather his clothes.
He has a tan line at his hipbones. Does he spend his summer poolside or working shirtless in the sun? Or is that tan all from his morning runs?
Little drops of water cling to his muscles as if they’re as obsessed with them as I am.
When he grabs his phone, I don’t even pretend I’m not staring. “You got a message from Peony while you were in the shower.”
He glances at me then back to the phone. “I see that.”
He scans the screen and chuckles to himself before typing out a reply.
“Who is she?” I ask, because clearly subtlety isn’t my forte.
“Does it matter?”
I push up onto my elbows and glare at him. “You think I don’t see the way you look at me? You think I don’t feel this chemistry between us?” I hop off the bed and rake my gaze over him. I’m so tempted to tear away that stupid towel. “It matters because I want to know why you’re meeting Peony instead of staying in this room with me and taking what you already know I’d offer.”
“And then what?” he asks. His jaw is hard but his gaze dips to my breasts, where they’re nearly spilling out of my dress.
“Then we fucking enjoy each other, Oliver.” Digging deep for a little more bravery, I slide a hand behind his neck and pull his mouth down to mine.
He’s still at first, his lips warm against mine and his body hard, his wet skin dampening my dress. I suck his bottom lip between my teeth, and he releases a soft grunt and tilts his head, taking control of the kiss. Taking my mouth. My lips. My breath.
He grips my hips roughly, and I press closer. I want every inch of him pressed against me. I want this on the bed, his hips aligned with mine. I crave the feel of his weight pressing me into the mattress.
When he tears his mouth away, I hold his gaze. We’re both breathing heavily.
“Stay,” I whisper, toying with the hair at the base of his skull. “Be with me.”
He blinks, his eyes going guarded. “You can’t fix me, Savannah. I’m not fixable.”
I feel like I’ve been slapped. “I’m not trying to fix you.”
“Aren’t you? Isn’t that what all this is about? The nights you rush home to make me dinner, the heart-to-hearts you always want to have over coffee?” He releases my hips and steps back. “You want me to be like a hero in your fucking books, and I’m not. I’ve told you from the beginning that I’m not.”
The next night, I find Julie in her boyfriend’s basement doing shots. I take the seat next to her, pour one for myself, and throw it back.
Oliver and I stayed in Manhattan last night, but he left to meet Peony and didn’t get back until after one in the morning. At that point, he collapsed onto the empty bed and quickly fell asleep. We were both sullen and quiet on the drive back to Crossport.
I refill my shot glass.
“Whoa! What’s gotten into you?” Julie asks.
What’s wrong? Well, last night, Oliver kissed me like he’d found salvation and then left to meet another woman. This morning, he acted like nothing had changed between us.
Fine. Whatever.
But what’s so great about Peony? Why isn’t he worried that she’ll think he’s some sort of hero?
“I hate men today,” I mutter. “Or I wish I hated them.”
Julie chuckles. “Well, I hate them most days, so good for you.” She nudges me playfully with her elbow. “Oliver in the doghouse or something?”
“Do you know if Oliver is dating someone? Or if he has an ex he was serious about?”
“He’s known for being a no-strings kind of guy.” She wrinkles her brow then spins around to face the other side of the room, where her boyfriend, Travis, and his buddy are playing the latest shoot-’em-up game. “Has Oliver ever had a serious girlfriend?”