Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
That’s a lot of time to screw things up.
It may be too late for my personal life. I grab my phone from the desk because I have too many questions running through my head to even think about work. Like why is she taking a date to Cammie and Cade’s wedding?
And who the fuck is Jean-Luc?
33
Tealey
“Who’s Jean-Luc?” The elevator door hasn’t even closed before the words tumble from his mouth.
“I don’t know,” I reply. “Who is Jean-Luc?” I sit up from the couch, resting my forearms on the back of it, waiting for a kiss. It’s the usual drill—closed eyes, pursed lips, and a wish that your prince charming will hurry the heck up.
“You tell me.” The kiss is quick, too quick, and it felt more obligatory than coated with sweetness like his regular kisses. I let it slide because I like this guessing game. I’m also two glasses of wine in for the night, thanks to Lowell and my crappy day. Soooo . . . I cannot be held responsible for my actions.
“After the day I had, this is fun. Like a mystery. Give me a hint. Nothing major. Just something to send me in the right direction.”
“What are you talking about, Tealey?”
My humor is clearly lost on him tonight. That won’t keep me from trying to earn his smile. A chuckle is a bonus on top.
I ball up my hands and anchor them on my waist, mimicking him, and then lower my voice. “What are you talking about, Rad?” That was nothing like he sounds, but I deserve an A for effort.
He huffs, and I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard him do that. Something’s troubling him, and I hope it’s not me. “I’m not playing a game,” he says. “Why are you bringing a date to Cade and Cammie’s wedding?”
Shifting my gaze from his left eye to his right eye before sinking back on the couch to take him all in, I’m still left wondering what he’s talking about. Pointing at my chest, I ask, “Me? I don’t have a date. Am I supposed to? And how does that work with our relationship?”
“It doesn’t. That’s my point. It’s you and me,” he says, holding a finger up from each hand. I’m assuming these are critical to the point he’s trying to make. Pushing them together, he adds, “There is no room for anyone else. I didn’t make that clear before, but I’m stating it now.”
“For the record?” I’m just messing with him because now this is entertaining, and I still have no clue who Jean-Luc is. Whoever he is, he’s wound up Rad something terrible.
“Yes. For the record.”
Getting up, I move around the couch, and I tap my fingers against his chest. I flatten my palms and stretch on my tiptoes to kiss underneath his chin. It’s stubbly, but I can smell his cologne, which causes my knees to weaken without fail, and tonight is no exception. “By the way, hello. It’s good to see you.” I bat my eyelashes and stroke the side of his face with my thumb. “Just in case you didn’t notice the girl on the couch waiting for you to come home for the past two hours, I missed you. Our greetings are one of my favorite parts of the day, so maybe we can make sure to cover that before diving into the deep end.”
While his hands rub my back, I see his shoulders begin to drop as they release the day’s tension. Yes, his body knows he’s home and safe with me. “I’m sorry,” he says, pulling me closer and bending down to kiss me again. This time, he lingers a while before I’m released. “I can’t believe I jumped ahead and missed that.”
“We got there in the end. Speaking of jumping, it sounds like you might be jumping to conclusions as well.” I poke him in the chest, and then ask, “Do you want to fill me in on this Jean-Luc business?”
“Didn’t you know? Jean-Luc is your date to the wedding.”
I wave him on, narrowing my eyes as if I’ll figure this out by homing in on him. “Still lost.”
“Marlow—”
“Ah, I see.” I nod my head, already knowing it’s going to be a mess if she’s involved. I love her, but I could use a night off from the excitement. I ask, “Do I even want to know what comes next?”
“Only fair since I had to hear that Jean-Luc is your date to our best friends’ wedding.” His expression twists. “None of this sounds familiar?”
I walk into the kitchen, stopping in front of the island. I rub the marble counter for luck, hoping we get to make the most of it again sometime soon. It’s been a week since I was bent over this very structure, screaming his name in ecstasy. Of course, I can’t complain. We make love every day like newlyweds. Newly dating doesn’t have the same ring to it. “I think I need a drink for this.”