Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 111(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 111(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
Even though I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing, as I scrub away at the plates, I shift my hips from side to side and arch my back far beyond what’s necessary. In fact, I arch until it hurts, doing my best to imitate what those confident, sexy girls do on Instagram. I may be failing miserably, but knowing Dax is behind me and most likely looking at me has me doing things I would never do under normal circumstances.
He clears his throat, and I purse my lips, trying not to smile.
Is it working? Is he going to come up behind me now and make a move? Tell me how sexy he thinks I am?
“Hey, listen, Becca, I’ve got to go out for a bit,” Dax says, quickly standing and grabbing his keys. I turn.
“Oh, really? For how long?”
“Not sure. I’ve got to deal with some…business. Might take all day. I left my cell number on the counter. If you need me, call me. I’ll be back later.”
“Uh, okay, I’ll see you soon—!”
But before I can even get the words out of my lips, Dax is out the door and throwing a leg over his motorcycle. The engine revs, and he’s pulling away, leaving a cloud of exhaust smoke in his wake.
I deflate like a balloon.
Nope, just as awkward as ever.
* * *
I spend the whole day moping around the trailer feeling sorry for myself, wondering when Dax is going to come back.
He misses lunch, so I make myself a pretty terrible turkey sandwich and watch TV until dinner time. Part of me really wants to cook so he has something to eat when he gets home, but I don’t even know when he’ll be back, so I make myself some mac n’ cheese and end up right back on the couch again waiting and wondering.
Did I go too far?
“God, why am I so awkward?” I groan, getting up and roughly placing my plate in the sink. I’ll wash it later. I go back to the couch and flop down like a trout. “What is wrong with me? Why can’t I just—?”
And then I hear it – the sound of Dax’s motorcycle pulling up out front. Suddenly, every inch of my body goes tense, which makes it nearly impossible to pretend to be casually relaxing on the couch as he comes inside, a little sweaty, but looking like a million bucks.
“Someone here?” he asks.
“What? Oh, no. I was just…talking to the TV,” I lie, not wanting to admit that I was ranting at myself about how awkward I am, thus coming off even more awkward to the man I’m absolutely infatuated with.
His chest is bulging, and he looks like he’s about to tear out of his shirt with his next move. He watches me for a moment then goes to the sink and washes his hands. I can’t keep my eyes off him. Every small motion causes his muscles to flex and my imagination to run wild.
“Did you have a nice…day?” I ask, stretching myself out on the couch, feeling just as awkward as ever but doing my best to appear sexy and confident like one of those girls I’ll never be.
Dax glances over at me. He shuts off the water and grabs a dish rag to dry his hands, and all the while his eyes move across my body, examining me like a doctor. I feel my face heating up again. Every inch of me, in fact.
Why can’t I just be confident and tell him what I want?
Why can’t I just meet his eyes with mine and give him a look that tells him I want you.
“I had to go,” he says, tossing the rag on the counter as he comes around toward the couch.
Do I see a bulge in his jeans?
New impulses flow through me, catching me off guard.
I want to spread my legs for him, show him the most intimate parts of my body. I want to lift my top for him, present myself to him like a gift and tell him, “Take me! Do what you want with me!”
But I don’t have the guts to do something like that. I can barely even keep it together right now and stop myself from running away into my bedroom because I’m so intimidated by how sexy he is as he comes over and stands only a few feet away from me.
“I had to go,” he repeats. “But…I didn’t want to.”
Oh my God.
What’s happening to me?
What is this heat blossoming between my thighs? Why is my heart racing like I just finished a sprint? Why am I having hot flashes starting at my toes and sweeping up to my cheeks?
Dax looks down at me, his eyes narrow, his face set in an expression somewhere between a frown and a smile.