Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 110201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
I’d given my friend an edited version of last weekend, telling her how my naked surprise for Clay had worked, and that after we’d fooled around, he’d taken me out to a club later that night. I left out the ruler he used, what kind of club we’d gone to, and that I’d let a stranger fuck me while he watched.
Lying wasn’t something I was comfortable with, but I’d sort of jumped into the deep end with Clay and didn’t know how Cassidy was going to react. Telling her would be better if I did it in smaller pieces and gradually. Plus, this would give me time to gauge how my partner would feel about me sharing with her what we did.
I’d told her about Clay’s offer of a non-traditional relationship.
“And you’re okay with that?” she asked me as we ate. “A relationship that’s just sex?”
I laughed lightly. “Oh, yeah. I’m more than okay with it.” If anything, I preferred it. “I just get all the good parts. I don’t have to meet his family or pretend to be interested in his stuff if I’m not.”
I left off the biggest perk. If we didn’t let our feelings get involved, then maybe my eventual break-up with Clay wouldn’t be as messy as my previous ones had been. And I wasn’t being defeatist about needing to break up with him down the road—I was being a realist.
He didn’t do romance or love, but I didn’t do long-term.
Cassidy gave me a dubious look but didn’t say anything. I hadn’t judged her when she’d hooked up with her ex-boyfriend’s father, and so she wasn’t going to judge me . . . but that didn’t mean she thought what I was doing was all that smart.
It probably wasn’t, but I was already in too deep. I was too focused on getting to know everything about him. Why was he so private? Why didn’t romance interest him?
After the weekend, Clay and I fell into a surprising pattern. He’d caught on that I’d go over to his place every night after I’d eaten dinner and check in with Noir. My visits usually were about thirty minutes, but once he started calling during them, I often lost track of time. We spent more than an hour chatting most nights—although he let me dominate the conversation. I tried to steer the focus toward him, but he was masterful at sidestepping it.
His mysteriousness was like a new kind of foreplay. Or torture.
“Okay,” I peered at him through the screen of my phone, “I’ve put this off as long as I can. We need to talk about this haircut.”
I walked over to the fireplace in his living room and pointed to the framed photo resting on his mantel. It looked like it had been taken years ago, maybe even a decade prior, and seemed to be his younger sister’s graduation from the University of Tennessee. She was pretty in her black cap and gown and was flanked on either side by her parents. Beside her mother stood Clay, wearing a suit, thinner frames, and an unfortunate buzzcut.
“It was hot as hell that summer.” He flashed a rueful smile. “It grew back.”
“Thank God for that,” I teased. “When was this?”
The light in his eyes began to dim. “Eleven years ago.”
“Your sister’s really pretty. She favors your mom.”
Even on the small screen of my phone, I could see the exact moment he shuttered himself away. His expression went flat. “Yeah.”
“Hey,” I said quickly. “I wasn’t snooping. This picture is out in the open, and with your lack of hair in full view . . . I can’t not look at it.”
I padded on my bare feet to the entryway. I couldn’t tell if he had a ‘shoes by the door’ policy inside his house, but his floors were beautiful hardwood, and I didn’t want my heels to damage them.
“And I wasn’t snooping through your mail either,” I continued.
Irritation sliced down his face. “Excuse me?”
“You know I watch my parents’ house for them, right? One of the things I do is bring the mail in every day and go through it for them.” I gave him an embarrassed smile. “I grabbed yours today. It’s habit, sorry. And your mailbox was pretty full.” I showed him the stack of letters and mailers. “I didn’t go through it, I swear,” I explained quickly. “I only brought it in and dropped it off here, but . . . there’s a letter from the HOA on top.”
His displeasure drained away. “Oh.”
“My parents got one too.”
The homeowners’ association used to be nothing more than a small annual fee to maintain the sign at the front of the subdivision, but last year Judy Maligner had taken over the board. Her lifelong goal was to be a giant pain in the ass—and she was currently living her dreams.