Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 155798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 779(@200wpm)___ 623(@250wpm)___ 519(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 779(@200wpm)___ 623(@250wpm)___ 519(@300wpm)
She suppressed a shiver. “You’re assuming I’d let you,” she whispered, looking away and pulling her lip out of my touch.
I tilted her head back up, loving the way she reacted to my touch. Her whole body was trembling. I didn’t think she was aware. “I’m not alone here, little one. This?” I moved against her, letting her feel me, really feel me. Her eyes glazed over. “That goes both ways.”
She bit her lip, the same one I’d been touching.
I moved with her until she was against her kitchen counter, and we were back in our favored position. I closed the distance, my arms trapping her in place. Her eyes closed. Her hands went to my chest, sliding down until she’d again curled her fingers over the waistband of my pants. Her fingers rubbed against my stomach, her little move.
I bent down, and whispered, “Hey.”
She lifted her mouth, and there I was, closing the distance.
Finally.
20
BILLIE
I’d kissed Brett last night in my kitchen with everything I had, climbing up his body like a squirrel. The way he’d engulfed me when his lips met mine, I knew everything was going to be different from that moment on—like he was changing me from the inside out.
I was swept up. We’d made out for…I didn’t know how long. I could’ve kissed him for the rest of my life and not needed to come up for food and water. Air and him were all I needed.
“Miss Billie.” A warm and friendly voice pulled me out of my reverie. A woman was coming my way in the grocery store. “What are you doing here?” She looked over my cart. “Ah. Doing some legwork for Miss Vicky?”
I had just entered Central Grocery, and Deandra Walkins had caught me fantasizing in real time about last night. I was flushed from the memory, and coughed, trying to cover what I’d been thinking about. Deandra was sharp. She didn’t miss a lot.
“Yes.” My cart was full of eggs in cartons. “She’s wondering if Martell wanted to buy these from her? Put them in the local organic section?”
Deandra was from Hawaii, her hair kept short and natural. Sometimes she wrapped a silk scarf around it, and she wore no makeup. Kept herself in shape, though she was a little thing like me. She was even a little smaller. Today she had on her usual outfit for when she worked as a manager for her fiancé, Martell Hibbley—khaki pants, sneakers, and a white dress shirt on top. No jewelry, though I’d always thought that was Deandra’s personal policy since some of the other workers were decked out in jewelry. All sorts. Nose rings. Eyebrow rings. The big hoops that stretched the earlobe. As long as they wore a blue vest, were clothed, showed up on time, and were kind to the customers, they could dress as themselves. Martell didn’t care.
I knew this because I used to work here as well. Central’s was a small grocery store not far from where we lived. Martell had good relationships with local farmers like Vicky and Howard. We had a surplus of eggs sometimes, which was how I’d found out about Central Grocery in the first place. When I’d realized they had a little community within the store and its customers, I got a job here.
I’d left two years ago because my design clients paid enough, and my shifts began interfering with my design work. Otherwise—I looked around fondly—I would’ve stayed here forever.
I also missed Deandra. We’d only worked together for six months, but she’d warmed up to me, and we’d met for coffee a few times.
“How are you, Billie?”
I frowned, catching a note in her tone. She had a reason for asking. “You saw the clip of me tripping?”
She smiled wide, showing her white teeth, and rested a hand on my cart. “It was hilarious, adorable, and had women everywhere melting. Brett Broudou? Are you kidding me?”
A little ball of tension inside of me eased. “I’ve been working and hibernating. You know how I am.”
She nodded.
“I’d kinda forgotten about the clip. It’s still trending?”
She hesitated before nodding. “Martell sees it on ESPN. After Broudou’s last game, the way he helped us so much, they keep playing it. It’s more about him than you.”
Crap. “Yeah.”
She gave me a reassuring smile, but I still caught some pity in her eyes as she touched my arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It doesn’t make you look bad at all. Women are jealous. They’d love for a chance to be saved by Brett Broudou. Tell me you and he exchanged numbers after meeting that way?”
My eyebrows shot all the way up.
Reading me wrong, she let me go, laughing. “Next time, Billie. If the universe brings a man like that to rescue you, you get his number. I secretly hoped he got yours, but knowing you, you probably snuck out of there as soon as possible.”