Total pages in book: 244
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
TJ groans softly, stretching his neck, inviting more kisses. “Maybe we should just spend the whole night having sex instead,” he murmurs.
“If you want, that can be arranged,” I say, closing my eyes as I nip on his earlobe.
Another moan. Another sigh. “I do, but I also really want to do this.”
He takes a deep breath, hands me the laptop, and stands. “Listen, I’m going to go for a walk. I’ll drive you nuts if I stay here. And I’ll just pace like a caged lion, so I’ll get a coffee.”
“It’s eight at night.”
He grins wickedly. “Coffee O’Clock caters to hyper-caffeinated Americans at all hours.”
“Go, go, go,” I say, shooing him away.
A pang of missing lodges in my chest once he’s gone. I shift my focus to the laptop, and the story opens in front of me.
Except, this is a piece about . . . bond trading.
Ugh.
This is dreadful.
I mean, it’s nicely written and all. But blah, blah, blah.
He must have opened this file by mistake, so I navigate, searching for his book. Except the sneaky fucker won’t tell me the title.
I poke around the desktop, hunting for it. Maybe this is it. The Case of The Disappearing Pages. It’s not a terrible title, like he said, but the man is harsh on himself.
I click it open.
My breath catches.
This isn’t his novel.
The hair on my arms stands on end. Chills sweep down my body. But they’re weirdly good chills as I stare at a few sentences from . . . a journal.
After the last week of getting to know him, I’m no longer convinced I can handle fifty more weeks of living together with, let’s face it, my dream guy. He’s the swooniest man I’ve ever known, and my entire body vibrates just being near him. He’s wickedly charming and ridiculously beautiful, and I am so far gone.
I swallow roughly, my throat going completely dry.
Holy shit.
My fingers tremble.
This is wrong. Looking at this is so wrong. I have to stop. I will stop.
I do stop. I close the file straight away.
Then I exhale the biggest breath in the city as I sink back into the couch cushions, processing what I just read.
Tingles rush down my body. They sweep through my chest as his words intoxicate me.
I’m thrilled that he’s as fucked up about me as I am about him.
But I can’t let on I read even three sentences. He’ll die of embarrassment. I shake it off, so I can pretend it never happened and tuck this moment far, far away. Then, I groan, laughing at myself.
The fucking book file was opened right behind the article. Thanks, Microsoft Word.
I dive in, and I have chills in a whole new way as I read the first four chapters of his book.
The man can write.
When I’m done, I grab my phone. A text blinks at me.
TJ: It’s been twenty minutes, and I’m dying.
I laugh as I tap out a reply.
Jude: Get your arse back here so I can tell you how bloody fucking good it was.
TJ: You’re just saying that so I’ll give you a blow job.
Jude: Pretty sure I don’t have to say anything but ‘Get down on your knees now,’ for you to suck my cock.
TJ: That is true. Also, can I tell you that everything you say in your accent is hot, but I draw the line at arse. Ass is hotter. Can we agree ass is better in all forms? An end to arse.
Jude: WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS NOW?
TJ: I’m a dick
Jude: OMG, I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW YOU KNEW HOW TO FIND AN EMOTICON!
We text like that till the sound of footfalls hits my ear, then his key rattles in the lock, and he walks in with two cups in his hands and happiness glittering in his brown eyes.
TJ hands me a tea, sits next to me, then says, “Well?”
I tell him all the things I love about his story. Especially the longing the hero feels in chapter three.
“You’re very good at writing longing,” I say, then take a drink of the tea and put it down on the table.
“Thanks.” He just shrugs, then says softly, “Write what you know and all.”
I melt a little more. He takes another drink of his coffee, then I reach for the cup, set it down too, and take his hand.
I tug him up from the couch and bring him to my room, and we undress each other, probably for the last time.
Soon, we’re in our element, naked and breathless, our skin hot, our mouths searching and finding. We come together, and it’s sexy and dirty like it’s always been.
But it’s also a little bit sad.
Especially when he kisses me with so much longing that I’m pretty sure I feel the same as the guy in The Case of The Disappearing Pages.