Total pages in book: 199
Estimated words: 192134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 640(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 192134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 640(@300wpm)
Lucky to be going on a date with me . . .
But this isn’t really a date—it’s a sex lesson—but I can’t tell Chloe that. I’m not ready to confess that to anyone. Maybe not even myself.
I’m so much more scared than I thought I would be.
Dear God, this is really happening. Graham will be here any minute—he runs late, but he always shows—and my life is going to be changed FOREVER.
“You know what, Chloe? I think I need a drink.” Tucking my purse under my arm, I make a beeline for the bar. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”
“Or call me later,” Chloe says. “I want to hear how it goes! Good luck.”
“Thanks.” I end the call and slip onto an empty stool beneath an antique replica of a World War II fighter plane. In a heartbeat, the bartender spots me and heads my way, clearly sensing my sudden and powerful need for liquid courage.
But before I can open my mouth to order, he says, “You’re CJ, right?”
I straighten, surprised. “Um, yeah. Yes.”
He fetches a dirty vodka martini with extra olives, my favorite drink, from beneath the bar and slides it across the smoothly polished surface. “Your friend ordered this for you about ten minutes ago. Glad you showed. I hate to waste good vodka.” He departs with a wink, leaving me even more unsettled.
There, underneath the elegant stem of the martini glass, is a folded note, my name on it in Graham’s handwriting.
Drinks and winks and mysterious notes, oh my . . .
My face flushes as I reach for it. He’s going to tell me he made a mistake. He’s going to tell me to go home, change into my snowman-covered flannel pajamas, and embrace my life as a person who is always on the outside looking in.
The cool spring breeze on my exposed arms suddenly feels like ice, summoning goose bumps from my skin. With shaking hands, I unfold the note and read: Go to the restroom.
I wrinkle my nose and murmur, “I already peed before I came up, thank you.” Who knew meeting a man who knew you so well could be so . . . completely unromantic?
But then, this isn’t about romance. This is a business arrangement with pleasurable benefits, and I would be a fool to forget it. The part of me that’s still a young girl with a crush on her older brother’s best friend has to stay out of sight and out of mind. There’s no room for her around here, only for grown-up CJ and her practical and grounded expectations.
I glance around the patio, but there’s still no sign of Graham, and I confess I feel silly texting him to say I don’t have to pee. Seriously, this isn’t a doctor’s visit where you need to whiz in a cup.
I take a small sip of my drink, then a larger one, my foot bobbing as I await the arrival of the man of the hour. The man of the week, who might very well be planting his flag in my moondust before the evening is through.
Cursing under my breath, I down the entire cocktail in one long gulp. Hell, I need it. And—bonus points—I think maybe I can pee now. If I try really hard.
Licking the sea-salty goodness from my lips, I slide off my stool and amble down the hallway toward the restrooms, already feeling looser in my limbs, my equilibrium slightly off in the three-inch peep-toe heels Chloe insisted were the only choice for a “first date.”
More like first bang . . .
I take a deep breath. Then another. “That’s right, cool, easy, and breathing. Always breathing,” I whisper as I squint at the doors on the left, looking for the ladies’ room sign. “You can do this.”
I pause in front of a door marked private. Before my stress-and-martini-affected brain can sort out what’s so hush-hush about this room, the door opens and a familiar hand clamps around my upper arm, pulling me into a darkened room, a private lounge it seems.
I blink, my pulse spiking as my eyes adjust to the dimness, and Graham chastises me in a deep voice. “Don’t ever drink a cocktail that you haven’t personally watched the bartender pour.”
“Then don’t order me drinks to leave with your notes.” I’m impressed with how sassy I sound, despite the hammering of my heart. “And were you spying on me? That’s not creepy at all.”
“Creepy?” He shakes his head in the near darkness as he draws me closer, until the spicy, addictive smell of him swirls through my head, making me even dizzier than I was before. “Miss Murphy, are you trying to hurt my feelings?”
“Never,” I whisper, adrenaline making my chest feel as if it’s filled with a swarm of butterflies on a sugar rush. “I’m going to be very respectful of your feelings. And very appreciative of your time and attention.”