Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
"He's been at my place a few times a week since you've been gone."
"What for?" he asked, brows creased like this information didn't make sense.
"To rake my leaves. To hold down Mackey so I could cut his nails. To watch movies. And to eat."
"Eat, huh?" he asked, eyes getting bright. "Yeah, that sounds like him. You made it sound like more."
"To prove a point."
"About?"
"Assuming things."
His lips twitched at that. "Because it makes an ass out of you and me, as the saying goes?"
"No," I said, shaking my head. "In this case, the only one who was an ass was you."
To that, the lip twitch broke into a genuine smile as a low, rumbling chuckle moved through him.
And into me, damnit.
As much as I wanted to keep a guard up - at least until I got an apology - there was no denying the way my body responded to him.
"Fair enough," he agreed, his hand sliding from my bicep and down my arm to close around my wrist, giving it a squeeze before dropping the contact, something I felt with a pang even if I was still a little annoyed with him. "I was an ass for assuming the worst of you."
"And for giving me the silent treatment when you should have been a grown-up, and confronted me about it," I added.
His lips twitched again, but he pressed them into a line like he knew he was supposed to be serious right now. "For that too, yes."
With nothing else, I raised my chin a bit. "I'm waiting for something here..." I prompted, giving him a pointed look.
He gave me a warm smile, moving a step closer until our toes were practically touching, then slid his hands around me, folding them across my lower back, and pulling my stomach flush to his, making a warm, gooey sensation move through my belly. "I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions. And gave you the silent treatment. And hurt you."
"I didn't say you hurt..."
"Babe," he cut me off, shaking his head at me like I was being silly. "You want me to own up to shit. I'll own up to it. I was a dick. And seeing that shit pissed me off because my first stop after I cleaned up and got some sleep was to see you. And make it clear that friendship with you wasn't what I was after. Now own up to your shit too. I hurt you."
"Fine," I grumbled, not quite able to make eye-contact, so I studied his open top button instead. "You hurt me," I admitted, the words barely more than a whisper. "But, I mean, it's not like we had any kind of agree--"
"Dunno how it went for you, babe, but this stopped being friends the minute I called you from half a world away."
It stopped being friends for me when we had slept together. If not before then, really.
"Come on," he said, releasing me suddenly, but keeping a hand at my lower back as he led me back to his open door. "We can talk somewhere other than in front of the elevator," he explained as we walked into his apartment.
Now, I knew Quin was well-off. Each of his suits likely cost more than my entire wardrobe. His car was like a damn spaceship. And, well, his office building somehow managed to make a slum look like an upscale neighborhood.
It also went to venture that he had some residence in Navesink Bank. A house or apartment. Something. It was probably stupidly nice and sleek, like everything else he put his hands on.
But I don't think it had ever truly hit me how well he was doing in life until I stepped into his apartment in the city.
Why?
Well, because he was on Broadway.
So even a shoebox probably went for over a million.
But Quin's place was not a shoebox.
Directly inside to the right was the kitchen, complete with stainless steel appliances, slate countertops, a slate pub table to eat at, and cabinets made of some material I didn't even know by looking at but were sand-colored, and I would venture a guess that they were stupidly expensive.
Beside that was a doorway that led off into, I imagined, the bed and bathroom.
Directly forward was the living room with light-colored walls, which was a bit uncharacteristic for Quin, but was probably meant to keep the place light and airy, dark wood floors, a leather couch across from a giant TV, and all the way at the end, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city below.
"Hey!" I said as he clicked the door closed, my eyes catching a pile of items on his table.
A wrapped box.
Confetti wands.
And champagne.
Like I had requested he have at the ready.
Quin moved over toward the table, almost looking a bit bashful.
"How come you have all that even though you were pissed at me?"