Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 38786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
I was devastated that a man I’d only met days ago was the first to validate my feelings.
When did society stop rallying around the single lady when she gets dumped weeks before her wedding?Have we become so accustomed to separations that we’re immune to them?
I’d be devastated if my parents filed for a divorce, but it seems as if I would be the only one not flooding their inbox to ask what will happen to the toaster they were gifted thirty years ago.
So I cried about the loss of human decency, and it was hideous. But instead of running for the non-existent hills of Florida when we arrived at our destination, Zane carried me up the stairs like he did the afternoon we sampled too many cocktails and then ran me a bath.
I was already swooning that he knew not to rinse my hair with the bath water when he washed it, so you can imagine how bad the sways became when he asked me if I wanted to skip dinner and move straight onto dessert.
Regretfully, he meant literal dessert—as in chocolate ice cream and marshmallows with crushed candy canes sprinkled on top.
An excessive amount of sugar is partly to blame for my giggles over the past six hours, but I know most of it stems from embarrassment. I’ve never cried in front of a man before. Not even my father. He would have killed whoever made me cry, so I reserved the details of my heartache for girls’ days with my mother.
We talked and ate chocolate while I whined about how every boy on the planet sucked. Even though she’s loved my father for decades, my mother let me rant because she knew the right way for me to handle the pain was to find my own way through it.
Zane did the same.
He offered me a shoulder to cry on and an ear to bash, but he never once forced me to share my feelings or explain the nonsense Peter never wanted to hear. He supported me until I found my way out of the dark, and I’ll be forever in his debt for that.
“I’m glad you stopped me today,” I say to Zane, drawing his focus away from the black-and-white Christmas movie we’re watching. “I wasn’t considering how you felt in that situation. I was only worried about me and what I was feeling.”
“That’s okay. It’s a natural response.”
“It’s not okay. It’s selfish and entitled, but I will learn from it and do better.” Needing to slacken the unease, I say, “Kind of like you need to learn not to hoard all the crushed candy canes.”
Zane’s mouth drops. “We had an equal amount of—”
“Chocolate ice cream and marshmallows, but your share of the crushed candy canes was far bigger than mine.”
He drags me to his side of the couch by hooking my ankle and pulling me across the rigid material. “It was not. I measured each serve.”
“Your sister is a world-renowned chef, so if you’re trying to tell me you don’t know the difference between a tablespoon and a teaspoon, you’re a big fat liar.”
My giggles about the onslaught of his hands on my ribs switch to a moan when his tug sees me straddling his lap like I did hours ago in the taxi. He’s hard like he is whenever he mixes chocolate with mint flavors and doesn't look at me with the same worry-filled eyes he hit me with in the cab.
“Nuh-uh,” he grunts out when I lunge for him.
He isn’t rejecting me. He’s taking charge because he knows how wild it makes me.
To be craved so much they want to control every inch of you, including your cognitive thoughts, is my biggest turn-on to date.
“It’s time to combine my three favorite flavors.” With Zane’s hands gripping my ass, he stands us from the couch, then heads for the kitchen.
Excitement bubbles in my veins when he plops me onto the counter before moving for the freezer. It is almost on par with my shock when his phone screen lights up with a message from his bank announcing he’s the recipient of an impressive five-digit transfer.
“Who is it?” Zane asks as he rummages through the freezer like whatever he’s seeking is at the back.
“Not really a ‘who’ more an ‘it.’” I show him his phone screen when his head pops out of the freezer. We’ve done similar the past few days. His lack of secrecy has made it so much easier to trust him. “It’s a notification from your bank.”
His dark brows furrow when his eyes drink in the fifty-thousand dollar payment, but he shrugs it off as if it is a regular occurrence before he returns to hunting in the freezer.
I wonder about the opportunity I missed when he offered to lend me money, but a loan is the last thing on my mind when Zane pulls a tub of chocolate ice cream and a baggie of tiny white shards out of the freezer.