Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
Colten’s hands snake around my waist then to my butt while he pulls me flush against him. “I am too, but not for food.” His fingers gather the thin cotton of my dress, hiking it up my legs.
“Tough luck, Mr. Duck. Food first.”
He buries his face in my neck, his hands finding bare skin along my backside. I’d be lying if I said my heart isn’t racing, my knees aren’t weak, my need isn’t just as impatient and real as his.
“You’re not even going to ask me about my first day?”
Colten pauses his motions, kisses my neck, and begrudgingly releases me. “How was your first day?” He adjusts his erection and blows out a long breath that ends in the best smile.
I match his grin and brush past him to the kitchen. “There was one case. It took me less than an hour.” I pull dinner out of the oven. “I had a meeting at the university to discuss this fall’s schedule. I made three new friends. And I think my associate professor has a crush on me. He’s pretty cute, so we might have to break up for a bit while I let him be my boyfriend for a few months. Don’t worry; we’ll probably get back together.”
Colten fills water glasses from the fridge dispenser. “That’s cool. I ran into Tessa Hart. Remember her? She’s recently divorced and hasn’t let herself go one bit. Tits for days. She asked if I was married. And since you won’t marry me, I told her the truth. I have her number. I’m thinking of meeting her for a drink this Friday.”
After setting the Cornish hens onto the stovetop, I slowly turn and tug the oven mitts from my hands. “She’s a placeholder, and you know it.”
Colten smirks. “My, my … all these years later and you still go a little feral at just the mention of her name.”
“Tits for days? Really?” I narrow my eyes.
He sets the waters on the table and turns, offering me a one-shouldered shrug. “How cute is your assistant professor?”
I slide my arms around his waist and tip my head back to look at him. “They can’t compete with us.”
His palms cup my face, fingers teasing my short hair while he grins. Has it always been this simple? Did we get caught up in materialistic dreams, the mind games of success, and the expectations of everyone else, when the grandest thing we can possibly experience in life is love?
“Indeed. There is no competing with us. We are more than pieces of a life … more than memories of a life … we are …”
I grin. “Everything.”
The End