Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90753 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90753 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“Seems appropriate. It’s not every day that you sell a house.”
I smile. “It’s not every day that you buy a house either.”
He laughs and pours me so much champagne that it spills over the brim of the small cup. I squeal and lean back, but there’s already champagne on my t-shirt. Adam makes clean work of it, stripping it off over my head “so it can dry” on the porch.
I laugh as he pulls me in close. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“It’ll be dry in no time,” he promises, nuzzling against the side of my neck.
“Oh yeah? And what about my bra?”
He’s already trying to peel it off me.
“I think it got a little champagne on it, too.”
“We should go inside.”
Those words come out of my mouth, but they’re nothing more than a halfhearted whisper.
“No one can see us,” he promises, backing me up against the side of the porch. He moves his left foot and then his right, and mine have to follow. Soon enough, I’m caged in.
“Mouse can see,” I joke.
His mouth drags down my chest, kissing across my collarbone and then lower still. “He’s too busy with squirrels.”
No, Mouse wasn’t too busy with squirrels, he was rolling in a puddle of mud. I know because a few seconds later he runs up onto the porch and shakes out all over Adam and me. In seconds, we’re both completely covered. We leap apart and Adam chides Mouse with feigned anger. Mouse responds by running right back off the porch, straight to the puddle, and rolling around some more.
“Are we sure he’s not part piglet?” I ask, stepping up behind Adam and hooking my arms around his waist. My bare chest presses against his t-shirt and I turn my head, letting my cheek rest between his shoulder blades. We’ve never done this—casual intimacy, cuddling. We were on our way to fooling around on the porch and we will probably continue in a few minutes, but for now, I don’t mind just standing here, feeling his heart beat beneath my palm.
He laughs. “Right now, I honestly can’t tell.”
I make a move to step back, and he reaches down to hold my hands against him so I can’t pull away. I’m glad he can’t see how big I’m smiling against his back.
…
The next morning, I wake up alone in Adam’s new bedroom. His newly purchased air mattress is set up on the ground, and our blankets are sprawled out everywhere. We went to work christening the space right away. The wall, the door, the hardwood floor—they all played a role in our night. Hell, I’d have probably dangled from the ceiling fan if I was tall enough. I guess there’s always next time…
But first I need food. All the pizza and champagne we had last night is long gone. I sit up in bed, wrapping the white sheet around my chest. That’s when I hear the voices carry from downstairs, and I can’t be sure…but I think I also catch a whiff of fresh bread. Pastries, maybe kolaches. Oh yes.
I scramble off the mattress as quickly as possible and throw on the only clothes I have: yesterday’s mud-stained blouse and pencil skirt. I’m tempted to borrow something from Adam, but he’s not here to offer it to me, and I’m not going to assume it’d be okay. Maybe he’d think I was crazy, trying to steal his t-shirts and leaving a toothbrush by his sink—although, a toothbrush would be really nice at the moment. As it is, I squeeze toothpaste on my finger in his bathroom and do a half-ass job of masking my morning breath. I tell myself it’s better than nothing.
When I walk out of Adam’s room, I verify that there are definitely voices coming from downstairs, and it’s not from the television—I know because we didn’t have time to set it up last night. See: sexual activities.
I make it halfway down the stairs before I identify who’s talking.
Adam’s mother.
Son of a—
“I was just as shocked as you are. I mean, she just showed up on my front porch! What was I supposed to do?”
“Put her on the first plane back to Chicago,” Adam responds in frustration.
I want to scurry back up the stairs, but now I’m close enough to know for sure that there are fresh baked goods in that kitchen. My love of warm carbs outweighs my ability to heed social cues. Maybe they can keep on having their private conversation as I slink in, load up a plate, and slither right back upstairs.
“Madeleine! I had no idea you were here.”
I freeze on the bottom stair as Diane takes in my dirty attire, my ruffled hair, and the hickey I just now remembered. I slap my hand up to cover it and she winks.
“Oh, yeah…” I fumble for a reasonable excuse. “I was just checking up on Adam to make sure he, uhh, knows where all the light switches are.”