Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 65948 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65948 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
And not because I’d been mugged, but because she knew that I really had the hots for my ex-husband’s brother.
Me: Yes, story time later after class if we have time before my ride gets there.
Matilda: I smell a juicy story that I’m going to love.
Me: You have no idea.
Shoving my phone into my pocket, I winced. “Do you happen to have a number two pencil?”
I knew he did, actually.
Why?
Because I’d helped Hilary kit his house out when he’d first moved into it.
There was no way that people would go through a thousand pencils. He’d also not been there to use them, either.
“I have like a gazillion of them for some reason,” he muttered as he walked to the drawer that I’d put them in years ago. “How many you want?”
After taking two, because you always needed at least one backup number two pencil, we headed outside. Only for me to come to a sudden halt when I saw him heading for his bike.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “I can’t go on that.”
Not can’t. Couldn’t.
I couldn’t be pressed up against him for however long it took us to get to the diner, then to the university, only for me to then have to be composed and take a test.
I would be a wreck.
“Come on,” he cajoled. “It’s just a ride on the back of my bike. It won’t kill you.”
I bit my lip.
He was taking my hesitation to get on the bike as fear for my life.
It wasn’t fear for my life.
It was fear for my damn panties.
Being pressed up against him would incinerate them.
I would be a mess by the time we got to the diner.
“Come on,” he repeated. “It’ll be okay, I swear.”
I licked my lips nervously then said, “I don’t have a helmet.”
“I’ll drive slow,” he promised.
I was caving.
That lip, paired with that deep, cajoling voice… I was going to ride with him.
Something I’d wanted for forever—to ride on the back of his bike while pressed up against him—was about to happen.
I was about to have one of my dreams come true.
“Fine,” I said, feeling the words tremble inside of me. “What do you need from me?”
“Your ass on the seat behind me.” He winked. “Come on.”
He swung his leg over, then he held his hand out to me.
I took it, noticing how small my fingers felt in his hand.
Then he had my hand placed on his shoulder and he was urging me to swing my leg over.
I did and all but fell into him as I did.
“Your feet go here and here.” He pointed to the little pegs that seemed to be hidden until he’d pointed them out. “And then you hold on.”
I swallowed hard as I wrapped my arms around his waist, feeling the softness of his t-shirt, covering the hardness of his strong shoulder.
He started the bike up, and I closed my eyes, trying to pray for something, anything, that would make me control myself.
Why did it feel so good to have him pressed against me?
Why did the idea of being pressed against him make me so damn happy I could cry?
He started forward, and I squeaked, feeling the power between my legs go up a notch.
Then we were flying.
Literally, flying.
He laughed at the squeal that left me, then pressed his hand against my calf and patted it.
Twenty minutes of riding later—and let me tell you how glorious those twenty minutes were—we arrived at Moe’s.
Just as we got to the door and he held it open for me, his phone rang.
He took a glance inside Moe’s and made sure there was nothing that would hurt me.
“I’ll be outside for a second.” He gestured toward his phone that showed a call coming in from Kobe.
I gave him a thumbs-up, then walked inside and immediately moved to the bar where I could see Shawna filling a drink order.
I took a seat near a pile of napkins and the silverware that was rolled inside of them, then leaned my elbows on the counter and said, “How are you?”
I hadn’t seen her in a while. The boss had us on different shifts the last couple of days.
“Could be better,” she admitted. “One of the kids was up with the shits all night. It was great. My husband didn’t get up once because he can’t handle smells.”
My lips twitched.
“Gotta love kids,” I said. “Your mom with the sick one?”
“Yes,” she sighed. “How are you?” She glanced toward the door where I knew Bain was leaning in the alcove right outside the door. “Looks like you’re pretty good from where I’m standing.”
She placed her last drink on the tray, then picked it up and walked over to the table behind me and placed them all before heading back to me.
I waited until she took the seat beside me, moving the napkins to her opposite side, before answering.