Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
They don’t eat until five, but he wants us to be there early. He suggested that might help my anxiety instead of walking into the building full of his family. Instead, we would be there first and greet them in small groups as they arrived.
I readily agreed. That sounds like a much better plan than us walking inside—all eyes on us. I shudder at the thought. I do not like to be the center of attention. I’m grateful Merrick seems to know that much about me and offered an alternate plan to help set my mind at ease.
Merrick assured me I don’t need to dress up. That Sunday dinners are casual —just family getting together to catch up and share a meal. I stare at myself in the mirror. I have on black skinny jeans, a flowing blouse, and a pair of Hey Dudes. My hair is hanging loose down my back, but I have a hair tie on my wrist just in case. When you have long, thick hair like me, you never leave home without one.
Making sure I have my purse and my phone, I pace back and forth in the living room, waiting for Merrick to arrive. I offered to make something, but he told me not to. I eye the container of Rice Krispies treats on the counter. I made them first thing this morning, and I keep wavering about whether I should bring them with us or not.
I’m not really his girlfriend, but his family is opening their space to me. Jordyn is my boss. Not coming empty-handed is the right thing to do. Merrick says there will be plenty, but—screw it. I’m taking them. Grabbing the container, I walk toward the front door just as Merrick’s truck pulls up.
Stepping outside, I close the door, making sure it’s locked, and start my way toward the truck to a scowling Merrick Kincaid.
“What?” I ask. I look down at my outfit. Is this too casual?
“I was coming to the door to get you.”
His words make me smile. “That’s not necessary.”
“I’m not the kind of man who pulls in and waits for his girl to come to him,” he tells me, rushing to the passenger side and pulling open the door.
I ignore the way my heart spasms in my chest at him calling me his girl. “I can open and close doors on my own, Merrick. Besides, there’s no one around to see the charade.”
He leans in close; his cologne—something that smells smoky and sexy as hell on him—invades my senses. “I told you, baby. When you’re mine, acting or not, I treat you like I would if this was real. That includes me opening and closing doors for you.”
“That’s... pretty swoony.” My face heats from my blurted confession. Had I thought about my words before I said them, that’s not what I would have chosen to say.
He winks. “Buckle up, Court.” He moves out of the truck, no longer in my personal space, and waits for me to do as he says, before closing the door.
I know I should be deeply offended that he’s being all demanding, but it’s hot as hell. And dare I say nice to have someone outside my family who cares. Is this what it’s like to date a nice guy? I wouldn’t know. My dating history is very limited. Bookworms are usually the last to get attention, and well, I’ve never really put much effort into seeking out someone.
Merrick Kincaid is a definite boost to my confidence.
“What’s in the container?” he asks once he’s taken his spot behind the wheel.
“Oh, I made Rice Krispies treats.”
He grins. “You didn’t have to, but thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He reaches for the container, but I twist out of his reach as much as I can in the confines of the cab of his truck. “What are you doing?”
“I want one.”
“Nope. You have to wait until we get there.”
He points to his chest. “Boyfriend here. I get special privileges.”
My heart squeezes in my chest. I should have known it would be difficult for me to keep feelings out of this. It doesn’t help that Merrick is adorable and sexy, and it makes me feel too comfortable when we’re together. Pushing the feeling in my chest out of my mind, I smile at him, hoping it looks as carefree as his own smile. “Pretend, Kincaid.”
“Doesn’t matter, that’s what I am. If my girl makes treats, I should get one.”
It’s his smile that gets me, and the fact that he keeps referring to me as his. I sigh heavily, as if this is the hugest inconvenience of my life, and open the lid, offering him a Rice Krispies treat.
“Thank you, baby,” he says sweetly. He plucks one out of the container and takes a huge bite. “So good,” he mumbles over the gooey treat.