Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 86596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
I saw the glances Donna gave Laura when her back was turned. The pursed lips and judgment in her eyes. Donna never thought Laura was good enough for me, and once Laura stopped practicing law, well—she put her in the “gold digger” category with the rest of the women the other agents in the office were dating.
Turns out, Donna was right.
Donna was usually right about most things, and it only took me a few years to figure that out.
“Let’s not talk about my ex, and we won’t talk about yours.” I smile as warmly as I can muster.
“Fair enough. Besides, I don’t consider my ex an ex—it was only a few dates, and mostly me waiting by the phone while he led me on,” she confesses, a blush hitting her cheeks.
Molly is so pretty when she blushes. Shows me a vulnerable side that so many people rarely see.
I’m proud to be one of them.
“That guy didn’t deserve you.”
We stare at one another for a few moments, the silence surrounding us laced with the most wonderful tension.
“I know that now,” she says.
Molly sets down her fork, putting it off to the side of her plate.
I set down mine.
“There’s dessert on the counter if we want it?”
She nods, rising. “Let’s eat it on the porch.”
The porch is lit with hundreds of tiny lights, strung across the roof and weaved around the guardrail, and through the trees shine the lights from the other cottages, casting an enchanting glow throughout the forest.
As if woodland fairies live in the woods…
I don’t know when I got so poetic. It must be the magic of this place.
I carry our desserts—two forks, two glasses, and a bottle of wine—outside while Molly unfolds the blankets and lays them over the outdoor sofa cushions, fluffing the pillows, moving the ottoman closer so we can prop our feet up.
We sit side by side, thighs touching.
Obviously.
“What do we have here?”
It’s a covered plate. When I lift the lid, Molly hums, licks her lips, and grins.
“How are we supposed to choose?”
“We don’t. We eat a bit of everything. Don’t you know the rules? We can’t go to sleep until we have sugar shock and want to roll over and die.”
One slice of cheesecake, two chocolate truffles, two chocolate-covered strawberries, and a ramekin of crème brûlée.
Molly is the first to take a fork and stab the cheesecake, biting into it with a moan. “So good. Try it.”
She feeds me a bite.
“Delicious.”
Molly agrees. “So creamy.”
I pull a face.
“What?”
“That word.” I feign a shudder.
“Which one?”
“Creamy.”
Molly laughs. “You don’t like the word creamy? You’re a weirdo.” She takes another bite of the cheesecake, then feeds one to me.
After I swallow, she leans in and kisses me on the lips. It’s sweet, sugary, and delicious, too.
“What’s got you changing your mind about wanting to date? And are you going to tell Penelope and Jack?”
“I told you. I started thinking about what a dumbass I’ve been about relationships because truly, I was just…still reeling over the whole Laura breakup. That whole situation shook me, but it didn’t break my heart; not really. She didn’t love me, and I don’t think I loved her.”
I had loved her when we were in college, but things changed. We grew up, but she changed in ways that I couldn’t align with. She wanted things I did not want.
I wasn’t an agent for notoriety or fame or money. I was an agent because I loved the law. Loved contracts. Loved athletics.
It felt like a good fit, and a career was born.
“And Penelope and Jack?”
“Well. Technically there’s nothing to tell. I don’t have that white picket fence yet, and I’m not technically in a relationship.”
Molly nods slowly, looking…disappointed in my answer? Can that be right?
Shit.
Did I say something wrong?
I said technically that I wasn’t in a relationship. I didn’t say it wasn’t going to turn into one.
The words get stuck in my throat. It’s our first actual date, so are those things I should say out loud? That I have hopes for more? Would that freak her out?
“Gotcha.” She resumes eating the cheesecake, and I know I fucked up.
My hand goes to her thigh, and she watches my fingers resting there before taking another bite.
“What I meant was, I need to see what happens before I pull the plug on the bet and shell over the suite at the football stadium. It’s a lot of dough.”
“How much exactly?”
I reach for the wine bottle and begin pouring the glasses. “Well, let’s see. Super Bowl Sunday is usually sold out. They want the suite to themselves and their family, no one else allowed.” I do the mental math and throw out an approximate number.
“Two hundred thousand dollars?”
I nod. “And they want food.”
She leans back on the sofa, gaze glancing out into the dark woods. “Shit, I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t tell them either. We can lie and pretend this date didn’t happen.”