Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
“Do you want to head home for a bit?”
Caleb considers my suggestion for half a second before jerking up his chin.
Our drive home is far quieter than it was when we left, but the sexual chemistry is about the same, if not more potent. It crackles and hisses as we make our way up the stairs, only dulling when Caleb continues on when we reach the landing of my apartment.
“Are you not coming in?” I bite on the inside of my mouth, hating the neediness in my voice before muttering, “It might be a little hard to explain to Tivy why you’ve come home partway through a workout session.”
He swears under his breath before saying the last thing I expected, “I need to use the bathroom.”
“I have a bathroom. It is the same spot as your bathroom.”
You would swear my tone was bitchy instead of witty with how white his cheeks become. “Yeah… but…”
“But…” I query when his words fall shot.
When uncomfortable tension rids the air of oxygen, I murmur, “I have VIP Poo in my purse.”
“I don’t need to poo, Jessie,” he replies loud enough for the entire block to hear.
“Then what’s the issue?” I march to my apartment door like my legs don’t feel the weight of lead, stuff my key into the lock, then swing open my door.
My heart sinks to my feet when I enter my apartment alone, but mercifully, its low ride doesn’t last long. It takes Caleb almost thirty seconds to fill the doorframe of my apartment and another twenty seconds to step over the threshold.
I swallow to relieve my parched throat before saying, “While you use the bathroom, I’ll grab us a drink. Do you have any preferences?” Without turning to look at him, I add, “I don’t have many options other than water, but there may be some leftover soft drinks from Monday night or the vodka if my little sisters didn’t find it.”
“Water is fine.” When Caleb’s reply comes out super groggy, I spin to face. He isn’t looking at me. He’s staring at the bathroom door, frozen in place.
“It shouldn’t be too bad. My sisters are grommets, but my mother refused to leave until they cleaned up the mess.” I whizz around the kitchen counter, pop open the bathroom door, then flick on the light. “See? Nothing to worry about.” My eyes pop out of my head when I spot my lacy thongs dangling off the shower rail. “Except that.” I race into the bathroom as fast as my quivering legs can take me, yank down the thongs, then push the shower curtain all the way to the far side of the wall. “Sorry. I can’t leave my underwear in the laundry room. It’s never there when I return to collect my belongings.”
Caleb still looks uneased, but after several big breaths, he enters the bathroom and closes the door behind him.
“Are you sure you only want water?” I shout from the kitchen when what should be a quick bathroom break stretches past two minutes. “I could run upstairs and borrow something from your fridge? I’m sure Tivy won’t mind.”
“W-water is fine.”
For how shaky Caleb’s voice is, I’m not surprised by the shocked expression on his face when he joins me in the kitchen.
“Did you find everything okay?” I’m not meaning to be intrusive. It just seems a little strange that he’s left my bathroom smelling of my mother’s perfume.
Maybe he thought he had BO?
Although I’d rather he not smell like my mother, I appreciate the fact he cares about personal hygiene. A lot of men let that slip lately, and even a handful of women.
I’ve only just handed Caleb his glass of water when a knock sounds at my door. I’m startled by the intrusion, but Caleb seems fine with it. He braces his backside on the kitchen cabinet he ate me on last week before shrugging his shoulders.
“Should I get that?”
His smile has his weird bathroom habits taking a back seat. “That’s generally what happens when someone knocks on your door. You answer it.”
I whack him in the stomach, halving the intensity of his smile before hesitantly approaching my front door.
The stupid nerves that shouldn’t be fluttering in my stomach float away when I’m greeted by a smiling delivery driver. He’s in the process of removing four Styrofoam meal delivery kit boxes from his trolley and placing them at my front door. “Oh, you’re home. We were messaged to say you wouldn’t be home.” He shrugs, hooks his clipboard out from under his arm, and hoists it my way. “If you could sign here.”
The clipboard is in my hand for half a second before Caleb snatches it out of my grasp, scribbles his name on the dotted line at the bottom, then hands it back to the deliveryman. “Here, let me give you a hand to get these inside. We don’t want any of the food going bad.”