Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
How could I be annoyed? He was trying to do something nice for us, though the reason he did escapes me. And the reason I feel so jittery and hollow has nothing to do with bedroom relocations and everything to do with him not being around, I fear.
“He didn’t upset you, did he?”
“How do you mean?”
“Just like Vegemite, he can leave a bad taste in your mouth. He can appear, well, damned rude.”
“He wasn’t—” He was a little vulgar, but no more than I liked. “He just wasn’t at all what I expected,” I find myself admitting instead.
“You mean drop-dead sexy? Hella hot?”
“Those are all your descriptions, not mine.” Even if they both fit.
“Ah, then you must mean available.”
“I suppose a man like him is the kind of available that’s like a short-term loan.”
Like one-night short term.
“What?” The word is tremulous with laughter.
“You know, I thought he’d be older,” I say, hoping to divert her.
“He is. Older, sophisticated, and rich. He’s like lady catnip, don’t you think?”
“You are so transparent, Rose Durrand.”
“I am?” And she’s still laughing.
“This was all a cunning ploy, wasn’t it? ‘Stay in my gorgeous friend’s empty apartment,’” I intone in a ridiculous rendition of her accent. “‘He won’t be home.’ Was this your plan all along? To get me to shack up with the winner of virile bachelor of the year for a bit of casual bed bouncing—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Virile bachelor of the year? Say what you mean, honey! Don’t hold back on my account!”
“Do try not to sound so amused.”
“I can’t help it. I haven’t heard you pay a man a compliment since . . . since. Well, forever.”
“Rubbish. I often tell Charles I like his outfit. And I compliment him on his haircut when he comes back from the barber every Friday, even if I do think the barber mostly just waves his scissors over his head.” Because who needs a haircut every week?
“Complimenting your gay bff doesn’t count.”
“I’m sure Charles would disagree,” I reply, sounding miffed.
“But you’re right. Carson’s hot. And all man.”
“Thanks for mentioning it.”
“My bad.” Her voice wavers with ill-concealed laughter. “I didn’t think it was relevant. You were looking for somewhere to live, not someone to share a bed with. I didn’t know he would show up.”
“Uh-huh. Couldn’t have worked out better if you’d planned it, right?”
“But I didn’t plan it,” she happily protests. “Besides, the man is like, celibate or something.”
My response? A snort. If that man is celibate . . . if that man is celibate, well, not only would it be a travesty, but what was he doing rolling around on the sofa with me? And he certainly stirred up a whole lot of feelings in me, feelings I’m not used to, and feelings I’d managed perfectly well on my own up until he turned up. With the help of my imagination and my hand. Sadly, that no longer seems to be the case. I don’t need a supplement or a herb to help because my issue isn’t a low libido. It’s exactly the opposite. Only, the Devil never seems to be home when I ring his doorbell lately . . .
“Okay, maybe not celibate,” she amends, “but he doesn’t date in the conventional sense.”
“How can a person date unconventionally?”
“Does it matter?”
Yes, because if she thinks he’s celibate, that means he’s keeping secrets, doesn’t it? I’m not so silly to think I’m the kind of woman who’d bring a man like him out of a sexual hiatus, and maybe this is why my denials shoot from my mouth like bullets.
“You brought the topic up, not me. Who said it mattered? Not me.”
“Did he flirt with you?”
I could ask her what her definition of flirting is, but it would only lead to more questions. I’m pretty sure she’d have a whole lot to say if she knew the way he’d introduced himself in the bathroom. As in unrepentantly naked and sinfully smirky. Or the way he behaved in the kitchen, his dominant stance, and his soft, taunting words, the thoughts of which still make me tingle. I can’t tell her about our heavy petting session and how, if Lulu hadn’t woken, the outcome of that night might’ve been very, very different. Most of all, I can’t tell her how much I miss him, which is ridiculous but true. I miss his taunting and teasing and his smart-alec retorts, and how his eyes dance with humour one minute and darken wickedly the next. He was so good with Lu. Making her breakfast, enduring the Troll movie, and then making her a space fit for a princess. He’s been so kind that it literally brings tears to my eyes when I think about it.
“No, he didn’t flirt with me.” At least, not in the traditional sense. “But he was provoking.” I’m not lying because Carson Hayes is equal parts arousing and annoying.