Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
My heart lurches. “I want that for you,” I say.
My best friend wants love. When we finish eating and she asks if I’d like to watch a show, I say yes. I’m not ready for the night to end.
She returns to the couch, and I grab my laptop and find a new episode of Privilege on Webflix.
At least it’s not a romance. Near the end of the hour-long episode, when the broody lead, Bryan, is taking out his trash, and the shadows turn dark and foreboding, Rachel whips her gaze to me. “I bet his next-door neighbor turns out to be his new boss, who’s spying on him,” she whispers.
Damn, that’s brilliant. But I’m good at games too, so I add, “And Bryan will say, I didn’t see you there.”
Five seconds later, Bryan startles, then says to the man, “I didn’t see you there.”
I laugh, then we knock fists. “Now we’re the script doctors.”
When the episode ends and the screen offers us another, Rachel nods. She settles deeper into the couch, and soon, very soon, as Bryan confronts his boss, her eyes fall closed and her breathing evens out.
I watch her longer than I should but exactly as long as I want to. I just can’t look away. Her shoulders rise and fall gently, her hair spills around her face, and she seems content.
Like she got what she wanted tonight—girlfriend lessons from a man who can treat her right.
But I still want to slide my body against hers and kiss her every-fucking-where.
Which means…I need to take care of one more thing before I begin the dirty thought cleanse.
Quietly, I get up from the couch, put a blanket over her, then dim the lights as I head to my bedroom.
16
THE SHOWER SHOW
Rachel
Ow.
My underwire is digging into me.
I fumble around in the dark, plucking at my evil bra as I push up onto an elbow. The button on my jeans is bugging me too, and I’m about to undo it and go back to sleep, but I’m twisted around in this blanket, and…ohhh.
I fell asleep on my couch again. I’ve been doing this a lot lately. Conking out on the couch. But then I can never get back to sleep in my bed.
I will stay sleepy, dammit. I will successfully transfer my tired ass to my bed.
With a monster yawn—this is good, this is so good—I sit up, then shove this tangled blanket off me. I can barely keep my eyes open as I stand.
Rubbing my eyes, I trudge across my dark living room in my socks, head to my bedroom, and push open the door. Just need to get these stupid clothes off, then I’ll crash into my pillows.
Don’t even care about my makeup. I’ll wake up with a raccoon face. Whatever.
I pull off my shirt and toss it on the floor as I go to the bed, then I unbutton my jeans, unzipping them too. As another yawn wallops me, I stop at the foot of the mattress, peeling my jeans down, my eyes fluttering closed, when I hear falling water.
I freeze at the sound, my jeans at my ankles, my head flipped over, my hands on the denim I’m removing.
That’s the sound of…the shower.
From this weird upside-down pose, I peer around.
That’s…Carter’s king-size bed.
All at once, everything clicks into place. I fell asleep on his couch. I walked into his bedroom. And I’m feet away from his en suite bathroom.
Where he’s taking a shower.
Because, holy smokes, from this vantage point, with the bathroom door half-open, I can see his naked legs.
Can he see me upside down, wearing my…what the hell panties am I wearing today? Oh, great. The red lace ones. They basically scream I want a side of sex ed with my girlfriend lessons.
I will never live this down after Boob Day.
Not only did I flash him my jugs, I sleepwalked into his bedroom while stripping to nothing.
Real smooth, Rachel.
Carefully, so I don’t faceplant, I pull up my jeans in slow-mo. When they’re at knee level, I lift my face, and…
Whoa.
That’s a hearty eye-full of mostly naked man in the bathroom mirror.
The vanity above his sink is wide enough, big enough, thoughtful enough to offer me a view into the rainfall shower.
I knew Carter was built, but I didn’t know he looked like he could star in an artsy sports magazine photo spread of naked athletes, the kind where you can see strong bodies in motion but no parts. I can’t see anything truly risqué since he’s turned slightly away from the mirror. As I inch up my jeans more, my eyes devour the somewhat chaste shower scene, cataloging the droplets of water caressing his golden skin, his thick thighs, his strong calves, and the side of his ass.
He has a great ass, and I can’t stop staring at it. It’s strong, and firm, and what would it feel like to grip that ass as he fucked me? To wrap my legs around his ass as he drove into me?