Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
I shake my head. “I’m no good with a stick.” His laughter fills the space between us, deep and rich and so… him. “You know what I mean.”
“We don’t have to drive. We could always try that other thing you haven’t done in a car yet. Maybe you should make a list.”
“Like a bucket list?” Why does that feel like a sudden weight on my chest?
“A fuck-it list,” he amends. “Put car sex at the top of it, if you like.”
“I haven’t had sex in a car. I also haven’t eaten octopus. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna do either.”
“I have. Truthfully?” he adds, his attention sliding my way. “Vastly overrated.”
“Octopus?”
“Both. But if it’s on your fuck-it list, I’ll give it another go.”
“I’m not a fan of seafood,” I say, turning my smile from him.
“And the other.”
“I’m not having sex with you in a country lane.”
“Can’t blame a man for trying,” he replies, unrepentant. “Next time, bring a bag when you come to stay.”
“Okay.” The word comes out small, my stomach a mess of knots. Pleasurable knots mixed in with the conflicted ones.
“You’re not going to ask, are you?” he says, sounding mildly annoyed.
“What is it you want me to ask?”
“When we’ll see each other again.”
Of course, it would be right now that the lights up ahead change to red. Meaning he turns to me with that expression. The one that seems to say: give it up, you know you’re going to.
“I mean, I’ll see you at work on Monday.”
“Amelia.”
The sound of my name in that tone makes me want to shimmy and sigh. “I just meant I assumed we’d talk about it then.”
“We’ve got time to talk about it now, given you’re staying in the arse end of London.” The latter he adds in a mutter.
“Which is why I wanted to take the Tube home.”
“Give it up, blondie.” Reaching out, he pulls on the end of my braid.
“Blondie?” A pet name shouldn’t feel mildly thrilling. I mean, it’s not even a pet name yet. Just because he said it once doesn’t mean it’ll stick. Anyway, I’m not supposed to be simp-ing after him.
“Have you got a problem with that?”
I shrug. Whatever. Secretly, I’m thrilled.
“You’re like sunshine, you know.”
“Bright and cheerful?” I reply with a tiny preen.
“Deceptively dangerous. Something tells me if I’m not careful, you’ll leave me burned.”
“Don’t say that,” I whisper. “This is supposed to be fun, not painful.”
“You didn’t answer my question. When?”
“I guess, one weekend—”
“Not one weekend, Amelia. Multiple weekends. Don’t tell me you’ve had your fill because I’ve barely scratched the surface.”
Interested is the least of what I am. Whit might be an obsession in the making, and that’s exactly why I need to be careful.
“Interested and that you can find time to fit me into your busy dating schedule,” he adds caustically.
Someone upstairs must think I need a break as the driver behind us leans on his horn, shifting Whit’s attention to the now green light. “All right, wanker,” Whit mutters, glaring in the rearview mirror as the car glides forward.
I find myself sounding the word out silently. I like Brit speak.
“I hope that wasn’t meant for me.” I turn my head and watch mild amusement flit over Whit’s face.
“I would never presume to call you anything so… insulting. But fun. London swearing feels so… continental.” Whit barks out a laugh. “Is a cheeky wank the same as a cheeky wanker?”
“What?” He barks out the word, amused.
“Isn’t it?” My shoulders move with bemusement. “Are they the same thing?
“Who’ve you been listening to?”
“El.” That wipes the smile from his face. “Well, I overheard him calling someone a cheeky wanker, and the other I heard on the Tube one ride in last week.”
“In what context?” he asks, “because the mind boggles.”
“I was eavesdropping. One girl was describing to another how she’d given her boyfriend a cheeky wank. She made it sound like she was doing him a favor.”
“Well, a cheeky wank can be fun,” he offers, trying hard to fight a smile. “Especially if there’s another party involved and they’re into it. But an appeasement wank sounds pretty sad.” His chest rises and falls as though to prepare himself, his eyes sliding briefly my way. “You sure you’re not having me on?”
“That means teasing you, right?” I give my head a shake. “Definitely not winding you up,” I say with the authenticity of the chimney sweep in Mary Poppins.
He laughs again and, ah me, I love making his mouth tip up and that chest heave with amusement. It’s addictive—like love crack, without the illicit connotations or actual love. Romantic love, I mean. I’m totally prepped against that.
“So come on. Explain!” I literally bounce in my seat.
Whit signals left mutters over his shoulder something that sounds like “can’t believe we’re having this conversation,” then, “a cheeky wank is an impromptu act of self-love.”