Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
I chuckle at the no-pressure part. Meeting the parents is always pressure. But, also, meeting his mom again? “Would your poor mom even believe we’re dating? I texted Gen and told her we’re dating for real, but it was over text, so I didn’t get to hear her burst of wild laughter at the absurdity of it.”
“At least it’s a funny meet-cute,” he says with a chuckle.
“Meet-cute. Who came up with that anyway?”
“Who comes up with anything trendy now?”
“I don’t know, but I hate it. I wish I could throw my phone in the toilet half the time. That’s pretty much where it belongs, anyway,” I grumble.
“We should get offline then. Just for a few days. Get away from everything everyone wants us to be and do.”
“Are you asking me to come away with you, you sexy beast?” I tease.
He grins and shifts up onto his elbow. I love the angle at which he’s looking down at me because the faux starlight creates the most beautiful shadows with his eyelashes on his cheeks. “Would you like me to ask you to come away with me?”
“Maybe.”
“Do you think I’m a beast or just sexy or both? That sounds like another ideal I’m going to have a hard time living up to.” He traces a pattern along my bottom lip. Slowly, sensually. And it makes me want to pant and growl like I’m the beast.
“If only you knew how my whole body sings whenever you’re around. My chemistry likes your chemistry, and there’s already a full lab going on. You don’t have to do anything to live up to it. It’s already a thing. The best beast thing.”
“The best beast thing. I like that.” He takes my nipple—the one that is positively perfectly healed—into his mouth again. It really likes this man’s mouth. In fact, it wants to live in this man’s mouth.
The rest of me wants to live inside him, too.
And that’s before he does the thing with his tongue. All. Over. My. Body.
Chapter seventeen
Mont
“What would you say if I said I had the most exciting news? Blow your socks off kind of news? Blow your socks clean across the country news? Blow your—”
“Whoa, Dad.” I wave my fork at him, and a piece of bacon falls off and lands on my plate.
We’re at Dad’s favorite diner. It’s not exactly a greasy spoon, and it’s not gourmet either. I find it to be a slightly soulless mix of both, but equally dissatisfying on both ends. It’s a family favorite spot, and we’ve been coming here for years. Along with the five-star haunts, my parents love this place. A friend of my dad used to own it, but he sold it to the new owners years ago, and since then, I think it’s changed hands half a dozen times. I’m not sure why we still come. I guess Dad likes the old and familiar, even if the food is quite subpar, the décor and furnishings are dated, and the place is usually packed full of kids whose favorite breakfast pastime is to scream until their lungs pop onto the outside of their body.
“Anyway, what is it? Or are you going to leave me in suspense for the next few weeks and not tell me?” I ask. Dad ambushed me this morning with an absurdly early phone call. He didn’t ask if I wanted to go for breakfast. No, he quite literally commanded it.
Thank goodness Evilla hadn’t spent the night. For the past two weeks, we’ve been doing that on weekends—Friday nights and Saturday nights mostly. Last night, she had a wicked headache and wanted to go home early. I’d picked her up, so I grudgingly drove her home. The grudging part was because I wanted to take her to the hospital since the pain was so bad that she was feeling ill from it, but she told me all she needed was a few ibuprofen, some silence, and her bed. I understand why she didn’t want to spend the night, and I wasn’t offended. It’s tough having someone else see you when you’re at your worst, and sometimes all you want when you feel super crappy is your own familiar space.
She already texted me this morning and said she was feeling better. But I didn’t sleep well last night because I was so worried about her.
We haven’t told our parents that we’re dating yet. A few of my friends know, and Genevieve knows on her end, but that’s it. We’re not keeping secrets, but telling the family is a big next step that comes with expectations, questions, and endless pestering. We’d like to make it to the one-month mark before our time isn’t really ours anymore.
“I’ve found it. The perfect castle.”
Now he has my attention. I’m glad not to have to eat the gloopy eggs and the undercooked bacon. I gladly set my fork down for good. “Where?”