Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 36370 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 145(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36370 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 145(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
Okay, maybe it did. I didn’t want to get this wrong. And anticipation always got me riled up. I raised my fist to knock again when my stomach did a flip. C’mon, Drew. The door clicked open a moment later.
“Hey, sorry to keep you waiting. I was just finishing up in the kitchen and—are those for me?” Drew propped his arm on the doorjamb and pointed at the roses.
“Yeah, but you can’t have them unless you invite me in. My balls are frozen.”
He chuckled softly and motioned me inside. “We can’t have that. Come on in. Leave your boots on the mat. I’ll take your coat.”
I toed my boots off in the entryway and followed him through a grand living area with high ceilings and picture windows flanking a massive stone fireplace. A fire flickered in the hearth, giving the space a cozy feel. Drew continued into the adjacent rustic-meets-modern kitchen and damn, my jaw dropped. The island alone was roughly the size of my bedroom. All right, maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but still…it was damn impressive. It had a sink, a prep area, and a seating section situated across from the biggest refrigerator and stove I’d ever seen.
“This place is insane,” I commented, admiring the iron chandeliers overhead as I set the wine and roses on the counter.
Drew pulled out two wineglasses and an opener before riffling through a few cabinets for a vase. “I know. It’s crazy. My brother doesn’t skimp on vacation rentals, but I think even he was a little surprised by this place.”
“I can see why. An NBA team would be comfortable here.”
“Yeah,” he chuckled wanly, then grimaced.
“You okay?”
He nodded but didn’t look at me. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
I peeled off the foil from the bottle while Drew arranged the roses on the island. He kept his gaze fixed on the petals as though the placement of each individual bloom mattered. I liked his intensity. He had a way of tackling everyday chores with the same fervor he put into managing the bistro or a morning on the slopes. Speaking from personal experience, that brand of passion could be a bit overwhelming or off-putting.
However, Drew was surprisingly graceful. He might not have been athletic, but he moved with purpose and spoke with intent, as though he was wary that unnecessary movement might knock him off course. For instance, when a lock of hair fell in front of his eyes, he didn’t bother brushing it away. It was such a simple thing, but it didn’t rank on his list of priorities, so he let it go.
I pushed the sleeves of my black sweater to my elbows and wrestled with the cork. Then I poured wine into both glasses. He stepped away from the roses, thanking me when I handed his wine over.
“Cheers.” I clinked my glass to his and took a small sip.
Drew winced again, turning to pick up a medium-sized cutting board piled high with cheese, meats, and crackers. “I made a charcuterie board. We can have this by the fire before dinner. I’ll put the lasagna in the oven in thirty minutes. You like pasta, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Good answer. Will you grab the napkins and wine too?”
I followed him into the next room and set my burden on the rough-hewn coffee table in front of the fireplace. I started to sit on a corner of the sectional sofa but found myself watching Drew instead. The sharp lines of his profile, the bend of his wrist, the curve of his tight ass in those Levi’s… Ugh. Not helping. I stuffed my free hand into my pocket to keep from touching him and lifted my wineglass to my lips, enjoying the warmth of the fire against my back.
“This feels good,” I said softly as he came to stand beside me.
Drew nodded absently, his hands on his hips and his gaze locked on the cheese board. “It does. Um…”
“Are you sure you’re okay? You look pale.”
“I do?” He raked his fingers through his hair and let out an amused huff. “I’m fine. Honestly.”
“Did you want to sit?”
“No. I, uh…”
I furrowed my brow and studied him. “Drew, cut the crap. What’s wrong? Are you sick?”
He let out a pained sigh. “Ungh. No, it’s nothing like that.”
“Did you get hurt today? You took a couple of tumbles, but you seemed okay.”
“I am. I’m just kind of…embarrassed.”
I squinted as I set my glass on the mantel. “Why? Does your lasagna suck?”
He furrowed his brow irritably. “Of course not. It’s amazing.”
“You seem to have some doubts,” I chided playfully. “Don’t worry about it. We can always order pizza or a—”
“Butt plug,” he blurted.
O-kay.
“You want to order a butt plug?”
He groaned aloud and shook his head. “Not necessary. I have one…as in, I’m wearing one.”
My cock instantly swelled in my jeans, testing the strength of my zipper. I pursed my lips to keep any inappropriate responses under lock and key, then ruined my show of maturity by grinning from ear to ear.