Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“Having my dessert first,” I tell her, but I pull my hands away.
“You will not do that to me in public.”
“Is that a challenge or a rule?”
Her cheeks heat, turning them into the second sexiest shade of pink I’ve ever seen. The number one spot is a couple feet lower. I lick my lips, getting myself riled up with just the memories I’m able to conjure with this woman.
“Someone might see,” she whispers, her eyes darting over my shoulder.
The words sober me, making me take a step back. I’ve never had an issue before when someone accidentally opened a bedroom door to find me with a woman, but just the thought of someone getting even a passing glance of her in the throes of pleasure makes me want to hurt those imagined people.
“I’d never allow that,” I tell her. “Spin around and get your seatbelt on, sweetheart. I need you fed and full of energy.”
Five minutes later, I’m questioning what the hell is wrong with me because she’s belting out a popular country song that’s playing on the radio, and I’m… smiling. She’s an awful singer, but her enthusiasm and the cheerfulness in her performance makes me wish for more time with her.
“We stopped here,” she says, leaning forward to get a better look through the front glass. “During the toy run.”
“It doesn’t look like much,” I say, getting ready to defend the little hole-in-the-wall diner.
“Is this the place that does half-and-half shakes?” she asks with excitement. “Khloe was telling me about them.”
I know I don’t have to explain any further when she rubs her hands together.
Instead of heading toward the podium in the front, I pull Beth’s hand and guide her to the booth in the back. I called while she was getting the tour of the women’s shelter to make reservations. There are a few spots in the diner that make it easy for me to see everything that’s going on. The booth we’re about to settle in is one of the limited places in the diner that isn’t directly in front of the massive plate-glass window. I climb in beside her, leaving her against the wall rather than sitting across from her.
I know from experience that the waitress’s smile as she approaches is more about the tip she’s anticipating because we always tip well, than her excitement about who I am and her thinking she has a chance with me. I look at Beth, hoping she doesn’t read the woman’s reaction wrong, but she’s already pulled a menu from the holder against the wall and is running her finger down the list of ice cream shake flavors, looking more and more torn as she reads.
“Hey there, folks,” the waitress says. “I’m Cari, and I’ll be taking care of you today. Can I start you off with some tea or a Coke?”
Beth snaps her head up at the sound of the other woman’s voice. “Do you have sweet tea?”
“We have sweetener.”
Beth looks a little disappointed. “I’ll have water.”
“Same for me,” I tell Cari.
“Any appetizers?”
“Give us a minute to look over the menu?”
“Sure thing,” she says before turning around and walking back around behind the counter.
“Their tea isn’t all that bad,” I assure her.
She scrunches her nose. “Tea made with anything other than real sugar isn’t sweet tea.”
I won’t argue with her. Doing so with someone from the South might start a war.
“What about your shake?” I say, pointing to the menu. “Decide which one you want?”
She looks even sadder with that question. “There are too many choices.”
“Just means we’ll have to come back a bunch of times so you can try them all.”
Her eyes search mine for a long moment, and it feels like another one of those times that the other shoe could drop, ending what this is.
Slowly, her face transforms, her smile now having a certain level of latency to it. “Then I want the half-chocolate and half-strawberry that Khloe suggested the other day.”
“What was your second choice?”
“Chocolate and banana cream.”
I do my best to hide my grimace. I fucking hate bananas.
“Here you are,” Cari says as she places our waters in front of us before pulling out two straws from her apron. “You guys ready to order?”
We place our order for burgers and fries, and Beth orders her shake.
“I’d also like a half-chocolate and half-banana shake, please,” I tell her before she can walk away.
“You didn’t have to do that. Wait? Is that your favorite?”
I pull in a deep breath, but I can tell she knows what I’m going to say.
“I hate bananas.”
She smiles wider.
“Why does that make you happy?”
“You didn’t lie. Most people would lie.”
“I’m not most people, Beth, and we made that promise, right?”
She nods.
“I have more to discuss with you.”
Her face falls once again.
“You’re ending this?”
I would hug this woman for the bravery of asking the question without hesitation, but it also scares me.