Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
"I am," I whisper. It’s a reckless, crazy thing to say. But I don’t care.
We start to eat, the turkey melting on my tongue, and the stuffing and mashed potatoes warming me from the inside. I was right—I killed it.
"I hope you're hungry." I laugh. “You’re going to have leftovers for weeks.”
He’s between bites, but when he swallows, he says, “That’s fine with me. You know, I don’t usually give a fuck about Thanksgiving, but…” Dean takes a drink of his sangria, and his stormy eyes lock onto mine. "I'm pretty damned thankful that I met you, princess."
Oh, this man. Demanding, controlling, but with a streak of genuine affection that touches my soul. "I feel the same. I’m glad I met you too.”
I take a sip of my own sangria, the alcohol sweet and spicy. God, I am so happy I met him. And now I don't want to be without him. I don't want to lose what we have.
Of course, I know this is all insane. We only met three days ago, and I'm his son's ex-girlfriend! But when I look at Dean, when he touches me, all of that fades away. It feels like I've known him for years. No one has ever made me so comfortable or feel so cherished.
I watch him as he eats—the way his jaw moves and the flex of his muscles under the dress shirt. My mind starts to drift. Before I can stop myself, I'm picturing him taking me right there on the table—his mouth on mine and his cock inside me.
"What is it, princess?" His voice breaks into my thoughts.
I flush and take a deep breath. "I was just...thinking about things."
"What kind of things?" he asks, pretending to be more interested in his plate than my words. But I know better.
I bite my lip, wondering if I should be honest or not. "I'll tell you later, but let's just eat right now. I don't want anything to go to waste..." Grinning, I point my fork at him. "I worked really hard on all of this, you know."
"I'll try and appreciate it more then.”
I wrinkle my nose at him. "You better."
Dean laughs and shakes his head. "You really outdid yourself, Delia. This is great."
The rest of the meal is a comfortable silence, and I can't help but notice that there’s a change in the air. Something about him is different. I don't know what it is, but I like it.
I'm cutting the pumpkin pie, feeling all glowy and excited thinking about what the rest of the night will hold, when I hear something that makes my blood run cold. It's the front door opening and the sound of my ex-boyfriend calling through the house.
"I came for dinner. I assume you still want to do that at least. Right, Pops?"
Dean is on his feet, but Brody struts into the dining room like he owns the place. His face goes slack in shock as he sees me, and his steps stumble.
"Delia, what the hell? Why are you still here?"
"Because you left me here!" I huff. "I haven't seen you since the day we arrived, and you have a lot of nerve showing up right now looking for a free meal."
His expression is confused, and then furious. "I thought Dad would have sent you home in a cab or something. I didn't believe Trevor when he said he saw you two at the pumpkin trail, but now I'm starting to think he was telling the truth. Are you really fucking my dad, Delia?"
Dean clears his throat, and Brody's eyes land on him. "You will speak to her with respect in my home, Brody. Delia is my guest now since you fucked off to party all weekend."
I'm panicking inside, hands shaking as I set down the pie knife. Brody looks like he's scared to talk back to Dean, which is a wise decision, but when he glances at me again, he puffs out his meager chest to continue complaining.
"Guest or fuck buddy?" Brody snaps.
Dean's expression goes thunderous. Oh no, this is a side of him I haven’t seen before. He's going to kill Brody.
"You're on thin ice, son."
“Don’t call me your son while you’re messing around with my girlfriend.”
Dean takes a step forward, and Brody steps back, his expression nervous. He's not nearly as large as his father, and there's no way he could ever take him in a fight. "I didn't ask for a smart-ass response."
Brody looks at me for some kind of help. Too bad I have none for him."Delia, are you serious?”
I swallow hard. The last thing I expected was for him to even ask that question. "We broke up, Brody. Remember?"
"No. I remember you bitching at me, though." He scoffs, but there's sweat beading on his brow. Dean has gone silent, but that silence speaks words. I can't believe Brody is still arguing back...it must be all the adrenaline making him stupid. “I didn’t think it was a real breakup.”