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)
I can’t help the smile that crosses my face when he sighs in relief a second after his ass is surrounded by springs instead of the rock-hard carpet on the living room floor. His ass would have to be dead because Octavia didn’t pick one movie. She went for a trilogy.
Caleb’s breaths tickle my ear when he leans in close and whispers, “Have you seen this one?”
I shush him like we’re in a state library before watching Nick ‘The Slicer’ Macgerk knock his first wife-to-be into a sea of sharks.
Caleb’s breaths hit my ear for the second time when a short time later, Leslie Nielson delivers one of his infamous lines. “Like a blind man at an orgy, I was going to have to feel things out.”
I peer up at him through thick lashes when he murmurs, “One of the greatest actors of all time. Classically trained—”
“But capable of making us laugh,” I interrupt. “A rare talent.”
After nodding, agreeing with me, his eyes float over my face before eventually lowering to my lips. I demand mine to return to the television in the corner of the room, but the fight is too great. I’m under a spell in not even a second.
“You’re an asshole,” I mutter, certain the reminder to my lust-fueled body will have it falling into line.
“And you are really pretty when you’re angry,” he whispers in my ear, his words barely audible. My eyes rocket to Octavia to see if she heard his comment makes more noise than his deep timbre.
Upon noticing Octavia’s unawareness, I fold my arms in front of my chest before returning my eyes to the show that has her so engrossed, she looks seconds from falling asleep.
“Lines like that don’t work on me,” I murmur a short time later, incapable of ignoring the tension for a second longer. In case the hitch in my tone didn’t clue you in, I’m a big fat liar. Just Caleb’s breath on my ear has me on the verge of panting. “So perhaps you should save them for the weekend when they’ll be more useful.”
Caleb’s lack of retort sees me stuffing my hands so far under my arms I represent a pretzel. I don’t want a diamond ring and a white picket fence, but he could at least pretend he isn’t planning to go on the prowl this weekend.
My rigid stance slackens when Octavia’s head needs a soft place to land. She held off for as long as she could, but the late hour and the long days at work must have taken a toll on her.
Octavia has work ethics by the truckloads and a fun, friendly personality, but she is also shy and reserved at the same time. It’s endearing… until you ponder why her shell is so hard.
I hope it isn’t any of the things I’m thinking. People rarely trek to the other side of the country for no reason, but I’d rather think she is the adventurous type than to have dealt with some of the issues the youth at my family church have.
Mistaking my curious glance as something else, Caleb shifts his eyes from a sleeping Octavia to me. “Did you invite Tivy tonight because you knew she’d bring me?”
“Are you insane?” He clamps my mouth with his hand before my squawk can wake Octavia. It has lust flooding my veins from recalling him doing the same when my moans became too vocal, but it won’t stop me from talking through the cracks in his fingers. “She never told me your name. The only things she disclosed about you is your disgusting bathroom habits and your love of an all-in brawl.” My tone lowers along with my erratic heart when I mutter, “I guess that should have been my first clue.”
I wait for him to remove his hand from my mouth before asking, “I knew there was more to her fire dumpster story than she was letting on. The extinguishers have been missing for months, but you only arrived on the scene last month.” I freeze as another revelation hits me. “If you arrived with Octavia on the twenty-third, does that mean the night we met was your first night in Seattle?” I take a mental note to spend an hour in confessional next Sunday when Caleb nods. “Don’t expect that welcome everywhere you go, asshat. It takes a special type of lady to have an acquired taste for assholes.”
“Oh… I don’t know about that.” He scoots even closer, which should be impossible for how close he’s already sitting. “The ones I’ve meet have been extremely accommodating the past month.”
Over the whooping he is battering my ego with, I attempt to leap up from the sofa. I say attempt because my backside barely lifts an inch off the couch when Caleb pulls me back down to sit on it. Since the piece of furniture my mother gifted me when she begrudgingly drove me to Seattle to start fresh isn’t big enough for three, I land more on Caleb’s lap than the sofa.