Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Her confession sends fire through me.
“More,” I demand.
Her green eyes meet mine. She looks like pure innocence, but I know she’s not. Has Andrew ever seen this side of her? Does he even know it’s there?
“Last night—” She swallows and pauses, nervous to continue. “I couldn’t stop thinking about what almost happened. I wanted something to happen.”
I study her face, looking for more truths.
“Did you go to sleep right away?”
She shakes her head, only a little, shyly admitting the truth.
“What did you do?”
Her cheeks flush. I know she won’t say it. Not while voices trickle over from the other room. We’re not by ourselves, not really.
“Did it feel good?”
Her eyes flare. Her focus is on my mouth. Does she realize how intensely she’s staring at me? How transparent her thoughts are?
“Yes. So good I did it again this morning, after you left…”
My hand touches her hip, bunching the material of her dress enough that it rides up her smooth thighs. There’s no protest from her, not even a hint of warning. She’d let me pull it up more, with everyone in the other room.
Summer is not the sweet girl I thought she was. She’s better.
Fuck.
Like I’ve been scalded by a hot stove, I drop her dress and step away. What was I planning to do? Did I completely forget there are other people here? We might be partially concealed from view, but it wouldn’t have been hard for one of them to lean over and see what we were doing. No one is fooled.
The timer dings for Alice’s lasagna, and she rushes in to take it out of the oven. I’m still standing close enough to Summer that she gives us a curious look as she slips on her oven mitts.
“Everything okay?”
“Yup!” Summer replies, voice perfectly chipper as she scoots around me. “It smells so good, Alice! Let me just add the dressing to the salad and everything will be good to go for dinner.”
Right. We haven’t even eaten. I’m going to have to behave for another hour or two, at least. I know it’s my own fault for inviting people here in the first place, but now suddenly, I want to kick everyone out. At least they’re all used to my moods. No one asks me why I’m quiet when we take our seats. Summer slips into the chair beside mine, which is surprising considering I would have expected her to scurry to safety the first chance she got.
Even with the leaf, the table is small, and everyone’s crowded in. Mike’s on my right and the guy takes up room enough for four, so I’m tucked right up against Summer, our legs pressed together. Her dress rides up her thighs now that she’s sitting, and when she notices me notice, she spreads out her napkin and surreptitiously jabs me with her elbow.
I conceal my smile by taking a bite of food.
Having Summer so close is the only reason I make it through the meal. I notice her every move. The little sound she makes when she takes her first bite of lasagna. Her hands as she reaches down to fix her napkin. I tug on it, trying to help straighten it, and her hand playfully bats mine under the table. It’s silly, the way it starts, like we’re playing a game of tug-of-war, but then my fingers brush her bare thigh and the sensation is electric for both of us. I look down and see the goose bumps cascade down her legs. So I do it again, so lightly, and it goes unnoticed by everyone else as they listen to Alice go on about a story of a customer from Bulgaria that called the shop today. Everyone laughs at her Google translate mishap while my hand skims the hem of Summer’s dress.
I have no idea what I’m doing, no control at all. Somewhere, buried beneath white-hot desire, there are warning bells and sirens and admonishing words, but I barely hear them, can barely even acknowledge anything beyond the smooth feel of Summer’s skin as my hand slides up her inner thigh.
She doesn’t pull away from me, doesn’t make a peep. The only discernible difference is that her breath has picked up slightly, then it hitches faintly when my hand slips under her dress altogether. I’m so close to parting her legs…
I’ve lost my tether to sanity. There’s no other excuse for how I could be doing something so bold at a dinner table with friends.
“Nate,” she says, her voice an octave too high as she suddenly scoots her chair back. “Come help me pick another record to put on.”
I follow her into the living room while everyone carries on. I don’t even care if they’re suspicious of us.
Summer’s over near the record player in the far corner, her arms crossed, green eyes smoldering.