Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
She doesn’t mean it literally, but now I can’t stop thinking about naked Weland, warm and snuggly and soft, lovingly pressed up against me, or me draped around her as we hold each other all night.
I think about more than that too, but it’s not gentlemanly to elaborate on it.
And I know that whichever way this pans out, I’m very likely screwed.
Chapter sixteen
Weland
Iwanted to make something that would take a while for us to do together. Something that felt a little bit romantic. What would my long-lost secret husband, whom I hardly ever get to see, like to eat if he came over to my house and spent a hypothetical week with me?
Probably not anything with garlic and onions.
And absolutely not liver. Shudder.
Steak is likely because doesn’t everyone like steak? But I don’t have a barbeque, and throwing it in a hot frying pan for a couple of minutes doesn’t seem all that romantic. Part of the show is to leave those cracks in the vertical blinds at the patio door that leads out to the world’s smallest yard with the shakiest fence, and you know…get it on.
I thought all day about what I could make. I didn’t want to have to run out for groceries and chance getting followed by the trio from hell. The last thing I wanted was another round of twenty fucking questions with them.
After a quick search of the fridge and pantry, I eventually decided on a stir fry. It’ll be missing some of the key ingredients, but I do have rice, chicken, peppers, carrots, corn, a can of water chestnuts, and a bottle of amazing teriyaki sauce.
My knife nearly slips off the carrot and goes through my finger when a loud clang comes from outside. “Gah! What the heck was that?” I didn’t think the cousins would try and break into the house. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
Sterling instantly has this guilty-as-all-heck look on his face, but he grins at me. And since he’s not panicking, I slowly set the knife down and turn to him. Crossing my arms, I wait for him to explain why it sounds like half the house is going to be torn away.
“It’s hot out,” he states.
“Yeah, I did get that. Unbearably so.”
“Other than the obvious, I think maybe that’s why we’re having trouble sleeping at night. It’s uncomfortable to be sweaty all the time.”
“I’m sorry the fans aren’t cutting it,” I say. I am sorry. AC costs money. I didn’t feel it was safe to install one of those window units on the main floor because someone could just push it through and come right in. And upstairs, none of the windows would work. I didn’t have the kind of money it would take to spring for central air.
“Not a problem. It’s especially not a problem when you have tons of money. People can make things happen for you. They can come at the dinner hour and get an entire central air system installed in a few hours.”
“Oh.” So much for getting romantic at dinner.
“I was thinking maybe we could order something in and then go for a long walk with Beans while the guys come in and work on your place. And then we could, uh…maybe watch a movie. In the nicely air-conditioned house. Together. Side by side. On the couch. And tonight, when we’re sleeping up there in your bed, under the same covers, I thought it might help that we weren’t both burning up.”
He has to be kidding. There is zero chance that if we’re sharing the same bed, I’m not going to be burning up. I’m going to be an inferno. A bottle of molten lava, if any bottle could even hold that. Back when we were kids, my parents used to give me and my brother sparklers. I was so much older than him, but it didn’t stop me from loving it and loving how much he loved it. We’d race around the yard together, doing tricks and pretending they were magic wands, those sparks burning hot and bright and wild in the dark night.
I feel like my nipples are the equivalent of those sparklers, and I don’t even want to comment on what my lady bits are doing.
Anticipating.
Seriously, anticipating.
I’ve been trying to tone it down since breakfast, but it hasn’t helped. Not even doing my guitar lessons with my students helped. I was strung as tight as those strings I was plucking, thinking about all the metaphors that could relate to my body being plucked and played and made music with.
It’s a nice gesture. It’s something Sterling saw I needed, and he arranged all of it as a surprise for me. I mean, it’s not like I was actually looking forward to making dinner together or anything.
We can still do that tomorrow night.