Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
She stops and grabs my hand, her skin so perfectly warm against mine. I don’t think I’ve ever felt someone’s touch so deeply, so intimately–and she’s only holding my hand. Her eyes are intense as she says, “You’d really trust me to do that?”
I can’t hide my confusion. “Yes?”
“Oh, sorry.” She shrugs. “It’s just that my mom never thinks I’m capable of doing things on my own. She doesn’t trust me. I mean, I can admit I’m a little clumsy, and I drop things, and sometimes I lose things, but it’s not like I–”
“Shh.” I lean closer and inhale her heavenly scent. “You’ve got this, Charlie. You can do it, and I have total faith in you.”
If I thought she looked angelic before, when she smiles at me with her whole heart, I wonder if I’m going to melt into a puddle. Jesus, she’s gorgeous.
“Thank you!” She squeezes my hand, then lets go and practically bounces to the sawhorses. “I’m totes going to kill this job! I won’t let you down, Rowan. I promise.”
“I know.” All I can do is stare at her as she pets the paint brushes and inspects the little cans of brightly colored paint. She’s so invested, so … hopeful.
I’d planned this little job as a cover so I could check for hollow places along the home’s façade, but just seeing how happy she is to help–I’m going to make sure the tiles turn out amazing. If only so she can feel proud of herself for a job well done. Something tells me it will be worth it when we’re done.
8
CHARLIE
“What do you think?” I stare up at Rowan and try to gauge his reaction. He’s brought more of the tiles down for me. I’ve painted a few already. “Is my stroking okay?” I audibly hear him swallow. “It’s bad, isn’t it? You can be honest.”
“No, it’s perfect, Bunny.” I beam up at him, loving that he’s given me a nickname.
“Bunny?”
“Sorry, it slipped out.”
“You call a lot of people Bunny?” Is that like how some use the word ‘honey’ or ‘babe’? I wonder.
“I don’t call anyone that. You just remind me of a bunny.”
“Bunnies are cute. They have adorably big eyes and fluffy tails,” I wiggle my butt. “Lots of energy.”
“All true,” he agrees.
“So it’s a compliment?” He nods. “Oh! Term of endearment!” I snap my fingers. That’s what it's called. “I like it.” I smile. It’s nice to be endeared.
Rowan sets down the tiles he brought for me. “I should get back to it.”
“Okay,” I chirp.
When he turns, I pull my phone out and google the word ‘endear.’ I’m pretty sure I know what it means, but now I have to double check before I get too excited. ‘To be loved or admired by someone or something.’ My heart starts to flutter, but it dawns on me that he hadn’t agreed that it was a term of endearment. I said that. He said he should get back to work.
Damn it.
I go back to painting. I sing Taylor Swift's new song as I work. Though I’m not sure I’d call this working. It’s fun. I wonder if I could paint more things. In boarding school, I got one semester of art and loved it. It dawns on me that there are so many things I want to try and never had much of an opportunity.
“You’re getting the hang of this.” Rowan moves some of the painted tiles out of the way to put more down.
“It’s fun.” I lick my lips. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” He sounds hesitant. I turn to face him, my hand hitting the can of paint in the process. It falls off the table, paint splattering all over Rowan before it hits the ground. Only a few drops land on my bare legs.
“Oh crappers.” I grab one of the paint cloths and try to wipe it off him, but it only smears it, making it worse.
“Bunny,” he snaps, and his hand wraps around my wrist. Wow, they are really big. “Don’t do that,” he grits out. Now I made him mad. That always happens. When I think something is going well, I find a way to ruin it.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
“It’s only paint. We can get more, but maybe don’t rub a man’s dick.”
I let out a small gasp. My eyes go to his crotch. The hard outline of his cock pressing against his paint-soaked jeans is unmissable.
“You said ‘dick,’” I blurt out, peeking up at him. “Now I said it.” I sink my teeth into my bottom lip.
I want to ask him to say it again, but that is beyond flirting. It was super hot when he said it. I’ve never heard a man say anything crude. Sure, I’ve read it, and the girls at school say it. But not a man standing in front of me that has his hand on me.