Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 94579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Her blue eyes meet mine. “What’s the first physical feature you look for in someone you’re attracted to?”
Dimples. Tits. Long, dark hair. “Height.”
“Really?” She’s taken aback, and it’s obvious from her wide eyes that she doesn’t believe me. “Huh. That surprises me.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, I thought you’d say big boobs or something.”
Pfft, like I’d admit that shit out loud. I’m not a savage; I have some fucking manners.
“Not everyone’s boobs are showing when you first meet them,” I point out cryptically.
Hers weren’t.
“True.”
It’s my turn now to ask her, “Truth or dare?”
One. Two.
Six long seconds tick by.
“Dare.”
I glance at the phone. Glance up at Scarlett. “I dare you to show me your favorite body part.”
Those smooth cheeks of hers get pink. “All of it, or just point to it?”
I go for broke. “All of it.”
“All right.”
Scarlett sets her plate on the table in front of us, standing, flattening a palm down her stomach. Turns her back to me, slowly hooking her thumbs inside the waistband of her yoga pants.
Drags them down her hips, three fucking feet in front of me, peach skin emerging in full view, gray pants stopping right under the swell of her butt cheeks.
White thong, ass smooth enough to slap, I’m only graced with three short seconds to gape before those gray pants get yanked back up, waistband snapping.
And that’s a mental image I’ll have burned into my fucking skull forever.
My Adam’s apple gets lodged in my damn throat, along with the slice of pizza I just took a bite of.
“Your favorite feature is your own ass.”
“Is that bad?”
“No. I like your ass, too,” I joke, noting the time and setting the phone on the coffee table, putting an end to the game.
No good can come of this.
“You want to watch a movie? Or are you going to head home?”
It’s still early, and I have no desire to leave…and she’s inviting me to stay longer.
I nod. “Yeah, let’s watch a movie. I don’t feel like walking.”
Scarlett
“Rowdy.”
I smooth the back of my hand tenderly down his cheek, leisurely over his laugh lines. Over the coarse, unshaven stubble of a day’s growth, bristly against my skin.
Rough, in a ruggedly sexy way.
His skin is soft near his eyes, lashes fanned out against his cheekbones as he deeply slumbers, the perfect slope of his nose a path I take with the tip of my thumb.
There are freckles there.
Brown specks I never would have noticed if I wasn’t this close, studying every nuance from inches away. Never would I have the nerve if he was awake, although I suspect we’re reaching that point.
I study his sideburns next.
The high arch of his tan cheekbones.
Both his buff arms are folded across his chest, shoulders wide. Neck tipped back, the column of thick and strong and sexy, Adam’s apple still in the center of his throat. That, too, is covered with dark stubble.
I run my palm along his skin, admiring the curve of his lips and strong, square jaw.
He is all man.
And I showed him my butt cheeks.
Rowdy’s lips move, startling the shit out of me. “You know they have names for people who watch other people sleep.”
I pull my hand back like it’s been set on fire. “Oh yeah? Like what?”
He cracks an eyelid. “Creepers.”
“I’m not creeping on you.” I am. “I said your name three times and patted your cheek twice.”
“You said it once.”
“Well why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because you feel good.”
He shifts on the couch, readjusting his weight. Moving his arms to his sides, letting his hands fall to the cushions. Cracks his beautiful green eyes open and shoots me a sleepy smile.
“What are you staring at so hard?”
I boop the tip of his nose then run it in tiny circles. “These freckles right here on the bridge of your nose.”
Now he’s more alert. “I don’t have freckles.”
“Yes you do. Right…” He watches me trace them with the tip of my finger, counting a few. “Here.” I tap ever so gently, the barest touch. “And here.” Tap. “And a few here, and you don’t have to sound so put-out about it.”
They’re the most adorable things I’ve ever seen, and my new favorite thing about him.
“Freckles are for sissies.”
My laugh is low. “Then you should wear sunscreen.”
“Sunscreen is for sissies.”
I cluck my tongue to hold back a laugh. “Shame shame, I always wear sunscreen. That’s why I’m so pale.”
Warily, he watches me with half-hooded eyes, still sleepy. “Did I miss the movie?”
“You passed out about twenty minutes into it.”
“Why did you let me?”
“I didn’t have the heart to wake you up.”
“Did I snore?”
“No. Why, do you usually snore?”
“Only when I’m really tired.”
“Maybe you should start staying home on the weekends instead of hanging out on the front porch of the baseball house.”
“And shirk my civic duty?” The lazy smile he gives me sends the thousand butterflies inside my tummy spiraling out of control. “I have to protect the public from you.”