Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
I roll my shoulders, shrugging off the guilty feelings. “Easton was just updating everyone on his plans and my brothers were going back and forth, giving each other shit.”
He arches a brow, waiting for more.
I wave a hand. “They’re just being idiots.”
“Hmm.” He dips his head and grazes his lips across the crook of my neck. I pull away without thinking, and his expression cools. “What’s going on with you?”
Good question. “Nothing. I’m just . . . There’s a lot on my plate right now. I’m still feeling a little lost about the future.” We haven’t talked about it since last week in his office. I haven’t wanted to bring it up again.
He straightens and folds his arms. Gone is seductive George. He’s pulling out his Dr. Alby face. “You’re a defense away from completing your dissertation, and you have half a dozen interviews lined up for jobs.”
“So?”
“So why aren’t you excited? You’ve worked for this for years.”
“Why are you so excited? Doesn’t it bother you at all that I might not even live here next year? That I might be on the other side of the country?” What the hell was that ring in your coat pocket? And who the hell is Buttercup?
His eyes flicker. I don’t think he actually moves, but I can feel him retreat. “Shay, this is the nature of academia. We have to take what we can get. New PhDs in this field are lucky to find a tenure-track position at all. We don’t get to be picky about where we live.”
“I know that.”
“Then please explain what’s going on in your head.”
“If you’re not Buttercup, I wonder who is.” I mentally shake myself. I’ve never worried about George’s faithfulness before, and then I let Easton go and make me question it. I’m not sure what upset me more—the fact that Easton assumed a decent guy who wanted to date me must also be a cheater, or that the possibility didn’t wreck anything in me. George and I might not be forever, but I’d be hurt if he wasn’t faithful. I might not be ready for that ring, but I’d be upset if he planned to give it to someone else. Wouldn’t I?
Fuck. I can’t avoid this anymore. “When you forgot your coat at the restaurant that night, a ring box fell out.”
He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “That’s what all this craziness has been about? You saw my ring and thought I was going to propose? Shay, we . . .” He grimaces then reaches for my hand. “I care about you, and I can’t deny how appealing I find the idea of not letting you go. But that’s a far cry from marriage, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t . . .” I sigh, and he arches a brow. “I couldn’t think of another explanation for what I saw.”
“It’s a family heirloom. It was my grandmother’s, and I’d tucked it into my pocket to take it to the bank. Why didn’t you just ask me?”
“I panicked.”
Sighing, he moves my laptop to the coffee table and pulls me off the couch to stand in front of him. The blanket falls to the floor, pooling around my feet. “What exactly do you want from me, Shay? Promises of all my tomorrows? Do you want me to beg you to stay here when you’ve worked so hard to go?”
“No. Of course not.” But it does seem strange that watching me go seems so easy for him. I just don’t understand why I’m never enough. But it’s not fair to put that on George when he’s not the one I’m so desperate to have choose me.
He steps closer and slides his hands to the small of my back, pulling my hips flush against him. “I know how hard you’ve worked for this. I’m not going to be the guy who expects you to arrange your life around him.”
“I’m not asking you to be that guy.” I swallow. “It’s just odd that you don’t seem to care that this thing between us has an expiration date.”
“I thought we were just having fun. Enjoying each other.” He lowers his mouth to mine, and I stiffen but don’t let myself pull away.
I pour myself into the kiss, willing myself to feel whatever it was that made this feel so good before Easton came back to town. But every movement of our lips and tongues seems clinical. I want to melt, but kissing George feels wrong.
George backs toward the bedroom, his mouth still on mine. “Come on, Buttercup.”
I pull back. “What did you just call me?”
He blinks, but color rises into his cheeks before he hides his face in my neck again. “I don’t know.”
“You called me Buttercup.”
He shrugs. “You’re cute.”
“You’ve never called me that before. Do you call someone else that?”
He licks my collarbone. I hate that I can’t see his face. “Who would I call that?”