Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 36768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 184(@200wpm)___ 147(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 184(@200wpm)___ 147(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
I nod toward Sam. “My house, my rules. We clear?”
Sam mutters a loving, “Buzzkill!” and Jess lets out a sweet little laugh.
We open the door from the garage into the mud room, and Sam’s chihuahua skitters joyfully around on the tile. His name is Lagerfeld and Sam has made it his person mission to make him the best-dressed chihuahua in the Carolinas.
Right now, he’s wearing a teal silk bowtie, which Sam has decided is his Tuesday around-the-house attire. I pretend not to be interested at all. But goddamn he’s a cute little dog. Especially in the bowties.
We make our way into the kitchen with Lagerfeld running circles around us. I pop open a beer and get the kids both a Topo Chico from the top shelf.
The house has turned out well and every time I walk into it, I’m fucking proud of it. But I’m even prouder of the life I’ve made for Sam. It isn’t easy being a single dad. But he and I? I got lucky with him. That’s for damned sure.
Sam’s phone chirps with a reminder, and he sucks in a breath. “Shit. I’ll be right back. Just need to submit this assignment for history tomorrow.”
Jess gulps down a glass of water and nods. “’Kay,” she answers with an adorable little burp. “Is it for Mr. Harris?”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeppers.”
“Don’t be cute with your margins or the font size. He measures,” Jess says.
“Copy that. Be right back,” Sam salutes, and runs upstairs with Lagerfeld chasing behind him making happy panting sounds.
Which leaves Jess and I all alone, face-to-face in front of the sink.
She’s swaying a little, still tipsy. She raises her pretty green eyes to me. I can tell she’s not hammered, not messy-drunk. More relaxed. Maybe a little less prim and proper. “You’re sure it’s okay that I stay the night?”
Something about her tone of voice, it makes me think of all the things she isn’t saying. About her sleeping two rooms away from me. About her bra on the floor of my guest room. About her showering tomorrow morning in the shower I tiled myself. Such fucking intimacy. Such closeness. I need her so much more than she knows or I ever admitted to myself before now. “Of course it is. You know that. Always.”
She nibbles the inside of her cheek like she does when she’s nervous. Her lips pulling to the side then popping together on a tight, little grin.
Fuck. I’d give literally anything, literally everything, to feel those lips on mine.
“Mike,” she says, on a whisper, tracing the edge of the countertop with her fingertip and that jolt I felt earlier when she used my first name is back with a vengeance.
“Yeah.”
She lifts her eyes again. They’re shimmering, but not with sadness. “Is there… something going on?”
I keep my gaze right on her. “I don’t know what you mean.”
She swallows, and I watch her pulse flutter in her throat. “Here. With us.”
Holy fuck.
The thing is, it’s impossible to ignore. And now I know she’s feeling it too. Fucking chemistry. 101. Pure and primal.
And I can’t ignore it. But I can definitely deny it. “You should sleep,” I tell her, keeping my voice between a warning and something warmer and kinder. And doing my best to keep the lust out of my voice while talking down my hard-on.
Her eyes trace my face and she takes a step closer. Inches between us now, no more. “That doesn’t answer my question. Is there something going on here?”
She taps my chest with her index finger then points to her heart.
I don’t say a fucking word. I don’t move a muscle. Because I know that if I do, if I let myself move at all, the next thing that happens is my mouth on hers, and me kissing her breathless and bending her over the back of the sofa and feeding her the ten inches of meat she’s brought to life .
Her tits rise and fall as she watches me. Time slows down, dream-like. My cock throbs in my pants. My balls tighten and feel heavy.
I have a flash fantasy of scooping her up on the granite countertop, right here, right now, and sliding my fingers inside her tender little wet hole, before I…
No, fuck no. You fucking animal. Your job is to protect her. Even if it means protecting her from yourself.
Sam’s footsteps coming fast down the stairs snap me back to reality. “I’m going to bed, Jess,” I tell her, and then turn and force myself, fucking force myself, to walk away. Without another glance back at her beautiful body. Her beautiful face. Her beautiful self.
“Mike,” she calls after me. “Please, wait…”
“Night,” I growl, and head down the hall.
From around the corner, I hear Sam come back into the kitchen. His Vans squeak on the floor.