Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 78407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
It didn’t have the desired effect, because he grinned widely. “Or lose you forever?”
Um . . . “What?”
His smile froze. “Top Gun? When Meg Ryan says, ‘Take me to bed, or lose me forever.’”
I shook my head slowly.
“You haven’t—” He visibly struggled to put his thoughts together into a sentence. All he could come up with was, “C’mon, seriously?”
I shrugged. “Sorry.”
He feigned an exaggerated, disappointed sigh. “Okay, Cassidy. We’re adding that to the list.”
I laughed softly, but inside it brought on a fresh wave of heat. I liked adding to our other list better.
TWENTY
DURING THE NIGHT, Greg selfishly stole all the covers. I shouldn’t have been surprised—Preston did it too. And then I mentally kicked myself for making the comparison. The Lowe men were similar, but certainly not the same, and once again, I repeated my mantra. I wouldn’t make comparisons between them. It wasn’t fair.
Beyond the windows, birds chirped and sang their persistent morning songs. As I stared at Greg’s peaceful face resting against his pillow, the blanket twisted over his waist, I couldn’t help but think a scary thought. Had he compared me to his past girlfriends?
Was that even what I was?
We hadn’t defined this thing between us, and I was more comfortable that way right now. I’d just gotten out of a major relationship—my first love. I shouldn’t rebound right into another. Plus, I’d go back to school in another month to start my sophomore year. He was forty years old with a demanding job. We couldn’t date, even if he was interested in doing that.
Was he interested?
I sighed loudly and climbed out of the bed, needing to escape my thoughts. I dug into my overnight bag, tugged on a tank top and the boxer shorts I usually slept in, and scurried to the kitchen.
Coffee wasn’t something I craved. I was a casual drinker, who preferred the chocolatey, pseudo-coffee drinks you could get at Starbucks. But Greg? He was hardcore. He needed his morning fix of caffeine like air. My gaze landed on the fancy, intimidating machine on the counter beside the stove.
I’d watched him fix his coffee enough times over the years, and I was smart. I could figure this out, couldn’t I? I’d make him a mug, return to his bed, and wake him up. The coffee would make sure he had no reason to leave. Neither of us had to work today, and I pictured us staying in bed until lunchtime.
But the machine was evil.
It took me forever to figure out where to put the water in, and once I had, then I had to choose from the six silver buttons on the side with pictures that made no sense. I pulled up Google on my phone and typed in the brand of the coffee maker. There was a YouTube tutorial . . . only it was seventeen fucking minutes long.
“Come on, machine. Help a girl out,” I grumbled.
“Good morning.”
Greg’s voice startled me, and I flinched, nearly dropping the phone. “Oh!” I spun to face him.
He was shirtless. He had on a pair of faded blue pants, tied at the waist, and they sat low across his hips. Hospital scrubs were supposed to be baggy and shapeless, but on him? Dear God, those pants were doing things to me. I tried not to stare at the defined, taut muscles of his lower abs or the way the dusting of hair there disappeared beneath the gathered waistband holding the pants in place.
All he needed was a stethoscope slung over his shoulders. Every dirty doctor fantasy flooded my brain in an instant, pushing out all other thoughts. If I pulled on the drawstring, undoing the knot, how fast could I get his pants down?
He padded on his bare feet toward me beside the machine, oblivious to how affected I was. He glanced at the water gauge, then picked up the pitcher to fill it again. “That’s not going to make enough for both of us.”
“I don’t want any coffee.” I was mesmerized by how comfortable and casual he seemed standing this close to me while we were both barely dressed.
His confusion only lasted a moment. “You were making it for me?”
I stood with my back against the counter and nodded.
His smile started in his eyes. “I guess I can’t be mad at you for leaving my bed, then.”
He leaned across me, trapping me in place as he grabbed one of the little cups of coffee grounds, put it in the machine, and pressed a button. The thing whirred to life, but the slow, methodical movements of the man towering over me already had my body raring to go. He was so close, and rather than move out of my space, he rested his hands on the counter on either side of me and stood only a breath away.