Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
It’s another sign that I shouldn’t cancel my date with Pammy for this weekend, even if I’m pretty sure there’s no long-term potential there. But Pammy’s a nice person, easygoing and fun, and she seems cool with taking things slow. Besides, the more I invest in other relationships, the less I’ll find myself turning to Binx.
I’ve let things with us get too close, too intense…
I almost kissed her again at the wedding, and I’ve been having dreams about stripping that see-through sweater off her with my teeth ever since.
I shouldn’t go check on her. She’s fine. She’s a big girl and the beer garden is fenced in. Literally nothing could have happened to her back there. I’m being overprotective.
I make another Bette Davis, Mom’s signature drink, and grit my teeth through the first karaoke performance, a John Denver number, crooned by Binx’s father, that reminds me way too much of Binx. It’s Annie’s Song, a ballad for Denver’s wife that talks about the way she “fills up his senses, like a night in the forest.” It’s so close to what Binx does to me—especially when we’re on a climb or taking our mountain bikes out on the trails—that it hurts a little.
It also makes me scan the room again for Binx, but there’s no sign of her. She must still be outside…but why?
I know she isn’t a huge fan of karaoke, but she loves her brother and according to the monitor, Christian is due onstage in a couple more songs.
“I’m going to run to the men’s room, Mom,” I murmur after she’s pushed two Marilyn Monroes across the bar. “Can you swing it alone for a few minutes?”
“Of course, I can,” she says, with a huff. “I’m a professional, baby. Take your time and mingle a little bit after. I’ve got this, and you’ve been working way too hard.”
I give a non-committal grunt and duck under the bar at the far end. Nodding hello to Tessa, the one who called this morning, begging Mom to fill in for the bartender who bailed on the event last minute, I bypass the restrooms and head straight outside.
Moving past the whiskey barrel planters, where a few withering mums fight for survival amongst a knot of weeds, I step onto the large open patio, expecting to find Binx talking on her phone or something. But she’s nowhere to be seen. I frown and spin in a slower circle, searching the trees by the fence for signs of a feminine leg dangling from the branches, but she isn’t up a tree, either.
She’s also not behind the wood panel concealing the dumpsters or in the smoking area. The last part, I’m glad about—I’ve been giving her shit for smoking clove cigarettes for months, even though she only has one or two a week—but still…
Where the hell is she?
I’m about to jump the fence to check the other side, when I hear a low chuckle and a man’s voice murmuring, “Fuck, woman, that tickles. Your fingers are freezing.” It sounds like the guy’s around the corner, so I move in that direction, spotting the back entrance to the kitchen just as a woman’s voice says, “Yeah, well, it’s October, dude. Get used to it. Only going to get colder from here on out. Now hold still.”
My ears perk up and a scowl claws into my forehead.
That was Binx. I would know her voice anywhere.
But what the hell is she doing hanging out in the kitchen with some dude in the middle of her brother’s wedding shower? And why is she touching him with her “freezing fingers?”
“I’m serious,” she adds with a husky chuckle, “the more you wiggle, the longer this is going to take, and we don’t have much time.”
The more he wiggles?
What the actual fuck?
Is the seeing someone? Or just…fucking around? Fucking around with someone she likes enough to give him a hand job while her entire family is in the next room?
“I’m not wiggling, I’m just ticklish,” comes the male voice, bringing a full-fledged snarl to my lips. “You know that. Even when you were sticking it in me for the little one, I couldn’t stop laughing.”
Sticking it in him? Sticking what in him?
And what the hell is Binx doing with some thin-skinned, ticklish motherfucker who wants her to stick things in him? That’s not what Binx wants in a lover. I would bet every acre of my hard-won land on that.
We’ve obviously never slept together, but her eyes tell me she wants to be pushed up against a wall and taken by a man who’s not afraid to show her what she does to him. She wants to be held down hard while she gives as good as she gets. She wants passion and intensity from an equal, not some wimp who can’t make it through a hand job without getting a case of the giggles.