Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
“Good morning, Anna Black.” He grins a second before kissing me. His confidence is its own entity.
The guy who kisses like the sun sliding up the east horizon, taking my breath away, is worthy of such confidence. I mean … the sun owns the sky, deciding when to hide behind a thin layer of clouds and when to scorch the Earth.
“Jesus …” I pull back, breathless, with my forehead propped against his and my fists clenching his shirt. “You can kiss.”
“Yes. I can, but now I have work to do.” He lifts me off his lap and smacks my ass. “Thanks for the coffee.” He cups it with one hand like making a toast before taking a swig and opening his laptop.
I retreat a step, more like stumble, because that kiss has left me dizzy. “You’re arrogant.” I snatch my coffee.
Eric taps a few keys, keeping his gaze on the computer screen despite his lips curling a fraction. “Confident.”
“Dismissive.” I frown.
“Busy.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He types away.
“A tease.” I lift my bag onto my shoulder.
“Seductive. Go to work. Enjoy your freedom. When you’re restrained to my bed tomorrow morning, you’ll wish you made better use of your time today.”
I infuse a pseudo-confidence into my laugh, posture, and wavering smile. “I might be restrained to a bed tomorrow morning, but it won’t be yours.” Forcing a tight smile, I exit with my chin up and extra sway to my hips as I leave his office.
I hear his faint chuckle followed by, “Oh, Anna … Anna … Anna …”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Operation Avoid Eric Fucking Steinmann goes well for three full days after coffee and the most incredible kiss in his office. Why am I avoiding him?
Good question.
Things we can’t resist are usually not good for us. Who lacks the willpower to avoid rainbow chard, five-mile jogs, and pap smears?
Eric is an ice cream sundae with extra chocolate and a jar of maraschino cherries on the first day of my period and the day I need to fit into a tight bridesmaid’s dress.
I notice his bike in the rack when I get home late from work, so I keep a watchful eye, peeking around the corner to the stairs, tiptoeing up them, peering through the glass part of the door before easing it open, and using stealth mode to move past his door toward my apartment.
“Anna Black.”
Dammit!
His door makes no noise, not the turn of the handle or a single creak of the hinges.
After a hearty gulp, I turn ninety degrees to see him, but not the full one-eighty like I intend not to continue to my door. “Hey. What’s up?”
He scratches his scruffy jaw, and it’s thicker scruff than the last time I saw him—three days with his overabundance of testosterone equal bad news for my dry panties.
Eric rests his shoulder against the doorframe, propping the door open with his other shoulder. I instruct my eyes to stay above his nose, but they have issues with simple directions.
“Can you step inside here for a second?”
I shake my head.
“No?” He chuckles. “Why not?”
“I don’t trust you.”
“Me?” He jabs a finger into his chest. “What have I done to lose your trust? Or get the three-day ghosting, for that matter?”
“Nothing. I mean … I’ve been busy. Working long hours.”
“Not having coffee?”
“We have a Keurig. Just … saving time and money.” I shrug.
“Did Freya tell you I’ve knocked on your door numerous times? You’re never home … even when I know your bike is in the rack downstairs.”
“Sometimes I walk. Sometimes I take an Uber to visit my parents.”
“Sometimes you’re hiding in your bedroom when I knock on your door.”
Blinking several times, I formulate my next lie, but I’m too exhausted to think of a new one. “I don’t know what you want,” I whisper.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I don’t know what this is. And I don’t like that you live three doors down from me, and I have to dodge you like this.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Why are you dodging me?”
“Ugh!” I run my fingers through my hair. “Because I don’t like the loss of control, and I don’t like the polarity of emotions. One minute I like you; the next, I hate you. Then I’m back to liking you. Then you say something that rubs me wrong, and I’m back hating you. Then you open your door looking like…” I nod to his general sexiness “…this. And what am I supposed to do?”
He lifts an eyebrow.
I know I sound completely insane.
“Step inside for a minute.”
“No way.”
Eric smirks. “Why not? Are we still visiting that antique store tomorrow? Shouldn’t you get a good look at my empty walls first?”
“Did you finish that book?”
Creases form along his forehead. “Books? We’re talking about books again?”
I lift my chin and blink slowly. I know it shouldn’t be a dealbreaker, but it is, and it’s a character trait I can’t overlook.