Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Plus, I don’t want to ruin tomorrow night. Our Christmas Eve.
Or is that my dick speaking, and he’s much louder than my mind?
“I’m glad I could help,” I say, forcing a smile. “Everyone deserves a good holiday.”
We finish the movie in comfortable silence, but my mind is still racing. As the credits roll, Chloe stretches and yawns.
“That was nice,” she says, smiling at me. “Thanks for suggesting this.”
“You’re welcome,” I reply, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
Chloe tilts her head, studying me. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem distracted.”
I force a laugh, but it comes out hollow. “Just tired, I guess. Long shift yesterday.”
She nods, but I can see the concern in her eyes. “Well, don’t let me keep you if you need to get some rest. I appreciate you coming over, even if you’re exhausted.”
Her kindness only makes me feel worse. I stand up abruptly, nearly knocking over my empty plate. “I should probably head out. Early shift tomorrow.”
Chloe looks surprised by my sudden departure but doesn’t argue. She walks me to the door, and I can feel her eyes on me as I fumble with my jacket.
“Thanks again for tonight,” she says softly. “It really meant a lot to me.”
I turn to face her, my hand on the doorknob. Her eyes are warm, trusting. I open my mouth, ready to spill everything, but the words catch in my throat.
“Anytime,” I manage to say. “Goodnight, Chloe.”
I step out into the chilly night air, my breath visible in small puffs. As I walk to my truck, I hear the soft click of Chloe’s door closing behind me. The sound feels final, like a missed opportunity.
The drive home is a blur. My mind keeps replaying the evening, analyzing every moment, every word left unsaid. I grip the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles turning white.
At least I get to see her tomorrow night.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chloe
I hate Christmas.
Those are the words I’d easily say when this holiday season started. In fact, I could easily say those words ever since the car accident that took my parents. But not right now. Right now, I’m rushing around my house, trying to do last minute decorating in preparation of my blind date with a stranger. An almost stranger.
I watched a Christmas movie! That has to be saying something.
With tinsel in hand, I frantically drape it over the mantle, cursing under my breath as I snag my sweater on an errant hook. The clock on the wall ticks mercilessly, each second bringing me closer to the moment he’ll arrive.
Ten o’clock, he said. Be blindfolded, naked, legs spread, and waiting for him.
My heart races as I glance at the clock again. Nine thirty. I’ve wasted too much time on these pointless decorations. What was I thinking? This isn’t about Christmas cheer. It’s about following his instructions to the letter.
I hurry to my bedroom, shedding clothes as I go. The sweater falls to the floor, followed by my jeans and undergarments. Goosebumps cover my legs and arms from anticipation and nerves.
The blindfold sits on my nightstand, a strip of red silk that will soon plunge me into darkness.
I glance at the time again. 9:36.
Is time even moving? I can’t exactly stand here naked and wait for twenty-four minutes.
Impatience grips me, and I start to pace. What if he’s early? What if he’s late?
I force myself to take a deep breath. I need to calm down. This is what I wanted, isn’t it? To feel something other than the emptiness that’s consumed me since the accident. To push my boundaries, to lose control.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, fingers tracing the silk blindfold, I try to soothe the manic raging within. The material of the red silk is cool against my skin, a stark contrast to the heat building within me.
9:38. Yeah . . . time is nearly frozen. It has to be.
I get up to check the front door to make sure it’s unlocked. It’s only the seventh time I’ve done this, but why not be sure?
As I reach for the doorknob, a rational thought occurs to me. What if someone else walks in? What if it’s not him? What if he arrives with a gang and— I shake off the paranoid thoughts and confirm the door is indeed unlocked. Returning to my bedroom, I catch a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror.
I’m naked. I hardly recognize the woman staring back at me—eyes wide with a mix of fear and fire, cheeks flushed, hair slightly disheveled from my frantic decorating. Is this really me? Am I really going through with this?
What would Jack say if he saw me like—
What. The. Fuck.
Why is Jack entering my thoughts? I haven’t even heard from him since our Chinese food and movie date. Our date was so sweet, so much fun and so . . . vanilla. The man didn’t even kiss me. When was that going to happen? Was it even going to happen at all?