Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
I ordered a pizza and left some money under my keys before heading down the hall. I paused in front of the bathroom door…just as Braden opened it.
He jumped back with a start. “Fuck, you scared me.”
“Sorry.” I offered a small smile. “I ordered pizza.”
“Oh. Um, that’s cool, but—”
“Don’t go. Please.” I tentatively reached for his fingers. I didn’t try to hold his hand, but I linked our pinkies for a beat, then let go. “Let’s eat pizza and drink beer…or tequila—”
“Tequila makes me slutty.”
I widened my gaze. “I’m definitely bringing tequila.”
Braden chuckled. He held the end of his towel with one hand and raised the other in surrender. “I’ll stay, but no tequila.”
“Good. I’m taking a shower. I left money on the island just in case the pizza gets here before I’m out.”
“Okay,” he said huskily.
The deep timbre of his voice did something to me. I gave in to temptation and let my gaze travel down his chest to the bulge nestled behind his terry cloth towel. It took serious willpower not to pluck the fabric away. I wanted to see him naked. Completely naked.
Behave, I admonished myself as I slipped by him. “I’ll be quick.”
Fifteen minutes later, I felt like a new man. The butterflies in my stomach hadn’t disappeared, but it felt good to be clean. I finger-combed my hair and pulled on my favorite Hawaiian-print board shorts. I paused outside Braden’s open door and stared at him for a moment. He sat at his desk, with his long legs propped on the end of his futon. I never understood the allure of those things. They were always uncomfortable. It looked like he’d just stripped his sheets. The black cushion that doubled as a mattress was bare. Two pillows were stacked near the wall, but there was no sign of a duvet.
“Where’s your stuff?”
“What stuff?” he asked, glancing up from his phone.
And yeah, he totally checked me out. I reined in my internal fist pump and made a sweeping gesture toward the futon. “Your comforter and sheets and stuff.”
“In the closet. I don’t make my bed until I’m ready to go to sleep. Haven’t you noticed that I usually have it set up like a sofa?”
I scratched my chin thoughtfully. “No, you always close your door. It’s so…clean.”
“Yeah, I like it that way,” he smiled. “The pizza didn’t come yet, but—”
“Hang on. Are you telling me that you strip your comforter and sheets off every day?”
Braden shrugged. “I like the uncluttered look.”
I gaped at him until he chuckled, then I averted my gaze to hide my grin. “That’s a little…”
“Psycho?” he offered with a smile.
“You said it, not me.” The doorbell chimed a moment later. “I’ll get that. Stay here. I have an idea.”
I hurried to the front door and paid the delivery guy. I grabbed a couple of beers, napkins, and paper plates and set everything on his desk.
“Wait. What are you up to?” he asked suspiciously.
“You’ll see.” I returned a moment later with a towel and a red gingham throw. The one my mom bought me to drape over the sofa…for a pop of color. Whatever the fuck that meant. I spread the towel and blanket on the futon, handed him a beer, and set “the table” with two paper plates and napkins. “Ta-da!”
Braden shook his head. “We’re not eating in here.”
“Sure, we are. We’re having a picnic.”
“We can have a picnic in the kitchen, Elliot,” he said in a concise tone.
“That would be ordinary. Picnics on futons are special.”
He stood and set his hands on his hips like a badass superhero, but the pose didn’t quite erase his bewilderment. As though he simply didn’t understand why anyone would try to reset basic rules.
“This is where I sleep.”
“I know, but we’ll keep the box on the desk, and we have a towel and a blanket covering the futon. Your covers are safely squirreled away, so this is basically like eating on a raft.”
“A raft?”
“Could be fun. But if it really bugs you, we can go to my room,” I offered.
“You can’t even see the floor in your room,” he groused, opening the pizza box.
“True.” I took a seat in the middle of his futon and straightened my legs. “Give me a monster piece, please. I’m starving.”
Braden handed me a beer and my pizza. “Do not spill.”
“I’ve got this.” I took a pull from the bottle, then set it on his nightstand…on a coaster. “You have coasters in here?”
“Yeah. No wisecracks. And just because we’re doing this one time does not mean this room is suddenly a man cave,” he said primly.
I snorted. “No self-respecting man cave has coasters, dude. But don’t worry. I get it. One time only. Look at you…breaking all the rules. You’re like a freaking daredevil tonight. What’s gotten into you?”
“You’re a bad influence.”