Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
“Balut?”
“It’s a fertilized developing bird egg embryo that’s boiled or steamed – I prefer steamed – and eaten from the shell. Best ones I ever had were in the Philippines.”
Gagging motion can’t be helped.
Or stopped.
Or even entertained dialing back.
To each their own and what not but that is so not me.
Good Gustav, I hope that’s not what he picked for us to try for dinner tonight.
“Edie – one d – is basically my art drug dealer. He finds me somewhere new to go, and he receives a respectable finders feed.”
“What a weird situation,” I mindlessly mutter out on a shake of the head. “After mentioning a weird food.” More head shaking is done. “You’re such a weird dude, Tuck. Like so fucking weird.”
“I am, birthday babe, and this weirdo,” he kicks his thumb inward, “wants this weirdo,” his pointed index finger is flung my direction, “to put on the dress that’s now on your bed-”
“What dress?! I didn’t plan on wearing a dress tonight.”
“High heels-”
“When you say high do you mean higher than flip-flops?”
“And whatever accessories you want-”
“I have to accessorize?!”
He smugly smirks and merely delivers one final instruction. “Meet me downstairs in twenty minutes.”
“It’s gonna take me at least twenty minutes to find shoes that fit that criteria!”
“Then we’ll call it twenty-five and you can meet me outside at the car.”
Instantly my eyes narrow to a glare. “You can’t drive.”
“I can and am, especially because where we’re going is a surprise.”
My mouth twitches to object yet is stopped in its tracks.
“Come on, June. Little faith here. I just promised you I wouldn’t leave unannounced, so how about a little more trust.” His shoulders slightly bounce. “At least for tonight.”
Sheepish nodding is followed by a quiet conceding, “Okay.”
“Okay.” Tucker grins mischievously big. “See you in twenty-five.”
Despite my disgust over the instructions left for me to follow, I do.
Why?
Because the rest of my birthday has been – admittedly – wonderful. Going on a morning hot air balloon ride with donuts, checking out a laser light opera for brunch, and finally ordering myself the pair of One-Punch Man graphic sneakers I’ve been eyeballing since I discovered its existence, were all very exciting, very fun experiences as was dying the tips of my hair.
Tuck was right when he insisted, he’s earned my trust.
He has.
I just hope he doesn’t break it.
Chapter 10
June
This man is insane.
Certifiably insane.
In fact, I should just let him run away wherever it is he wants to go and then file some sort of worker’s comp case for emotional trauma he has put me through.
Because there is no other way to describe how I’m feeling right here.
Right now.
Barely. Fucking. Clothed. In public.
Tugging down the short, peacock blue dress that has patterned cut glass embellishments occurs in tandem with me whining, “I’m not wearing lingerie to dinner, Tucker!”
He glances away from his phone over to where I’m poorly pulling on the material and walking at the same time. “You’re not. You’re wearing a dress. And a dress that looks even more fucking amazing on you than I imagined that it would.”
“Could it look more amazing somewhere else?” I try to close the slit that’s as high as my anxiety. “Like my bedroom floor?”
His cocky grin is met by a harsh glare.
“Oh, you shut that shit down right now, mister!” He’s thrown a stern finger point. “You know that’s not what I meant!”
Tucker waggles his eyebrows during his approach. “Do I, though?”
Yup.
I deserve thousands of dollars for dealing with the unstoppable wet dream that is Tucker Frost.
His hands swiftly capture mine to cease the yanking I can’t stop doing and are brought up to his lips to receive gentle kisses. “You look like something drafted by Da Vinci, baby.” Softness slides into his expression. “Purely. Stunning.”
My cheeks redden under the compliment while my mouth quietly argues, “Do you mean slutty? Because I feel…slutty.”
“Showcasing skin,” his eyes steal a sweep of my overly exposed frame, “even this much skin, doesn’t make you slutty.” He lets his blue gaze capture my brown. “A person is entitled to wear whatever they feel comfortable and confident in.”
“I feel neither.”
“You feel neither because you are concerned about what others are going to think or say.” Tucker plants his hands firmly on my hips. “Close your eyes.”
I do.
“Now, imagine you are alone in your room wearing this. It’s just you. You in front of the mirror where you can admire everything you love about yourself.”
That doesn’t sound like me.
“What would you notice first?”
“How short it is.”
“About your body, June.”
“That…” the internal struggle to stop the train of thought or to play along eventually ends with me caving, “this color looks incredible on me.” Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip is brief. “It’s bright and so bold and I look like loud, hot shit in this shade.”
A faint, hungry groan is presented before he inquires, “What else?”