Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
“Good!”
Our voices have risen again, and we continue our amplified parrying. “What’s your next question? You had a couple?”
“I do!” He bends over and picks up the flower pot. “What on earth were you intending to do with this?”
“If the intruder came back, I could . . .”
He raises a brow.
I lose all my volume and squish my nose. “I could put it over their head?”
He’s quietened right back down too. “Like a hat?”
“No, so it covered their eyes.”
“A pot this size?”
“They might have a small head?”
Damon bundles me up into his arms and presses another kiss on my forehead. He sighs. “I want to shower and change.” He pulls back with an all-too-familiar glint in his eye. “Do you want to join me?”
I start rolling my eyes, and then stop. “Sure, I’ll join you.”
“You will?”
“I have all sorts of messages from grannies I need to share.”
Damon kicks off towards the bathroom, alone. His laughter, delighted. “You truly live up to your promise to traumatise me.”
Chapter Fourteen
The next few days continues the battle of the sexies, and there are plenty of near defeats on my part. Only the fear Damon will get bored of me has me ultimately victorious. It’s not exactly a glorious win. I’ve basically been a walking erection for weeks. If I were a colour, it’d be blue. After my poor balls.
But it’s the right colour to be right now. Until I turn pink.
Hot pink. Like the wetsuit in my bach, awaiting my imminent arrival for The Show.
God, I hope I look good out there. Good enough Damon will come diving into the water to snog the living daylights out of me. Good enough he’ll whisper in my ear that I’m more than he could ever have imagined—
“What are you day-dreaming about?”
I wipe at the probable drool oozing from the corners of my mouth. Damon is in the passenger seat holding a cage of balls and numbered mats for bingo in his lap. He’s dressed in his wetsuit, ready for lifeguard duty, where I’m about to drive him.
I quickly start the car. “Not dreaming. Wondering who’ll win your services at bingo tonight.”
“Don’t be too chuffed about it. I changed the prize so they win the both of us.”
“What?”
Damon sends a smirk out the window. “Whatever dirty demands the winner makes, we’ll be doing them together.”
I side-eye him. “You’ve been sitting on that, haven’t you?”
“I’ve so many more.”
“Of course you do.”
Damon glances at the dashboard clock. “Shoot, run me to the beach and then drop the bingo gear to the hall?”
I totally do that. I’m not exactly sure where to put the gear, but there’s a table set up at the side, and that’ll do.
A ripple of nerves has me sweating as I reach the bach. It’s time. I move from the veranda into the living room, and my pink wetsuit winks at me in a shaft of light coming through the windows. It’s draped over the stool I sewed at when I lived here with Damon. Flashes of him watching me from the couch momentarily halt me. I stare at his spot as I peel off my clothes, until I’m naked. I pick up the wetsuit and crush it to my chest with so much enthusiasm, it might be suitable for daytime television.
My heart trips with anticipation. Time to be Damon’s Leon.
I pull on the wetsuit, zip myself up, and pull the board out from its hiding place.
There is nothing sexy about what follows.
I’m supposed to head into the water at the far end of the beach, where he won’t spot me. I’m only supposed to show up on his radar when I’m riding a wonderful wave.
But guess who decides that’s the moment to be relieved from duty, and to use his break to walk in this direction?
Damon halts mid-step a few dozen paces from where I’m toe deep in seawater.
He truly looks startled—which is something, at least—and I shriek and dive onto my board, only to miss and end up eating moist sand.
Damon jogs towards me, all rippling muscle and concern, and totally not part of the plan! Naturally, I scramble to my feet and start splish-splashing further into the water, spitting out sand as I go.
The next plunge onto the board works, and I paddle away from him furiously.
Finally. There may yet be a way to recover from the funky start.
Maybe.
Possibly.
Hopefully?
Why do I keep missing the waves? All of them. Damon is watching from the shore, hands firmly planted on his hips, and it is getting embarrassing how long it’s taking to do the whole stand and glide to glory bit.
There’s a lot at stake here, dammit. I have a heart on the line.
I mean, a fake one. Because this is all fake. I only want to be Leon 2.0 for him so that the fakeness lasts longer. That’s all. Absolutely.