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)
She pulls away, hand on the handle of her suitcase, and starts up the walkway.
“I still can’t believe we slept in a tree house.”
“Honestly,” I say. “It was a glorified tree house. More like a house that was really high up.”
She smiles. “True, but still incredible. I can’t wait to show Posey the pictures we took.”
Never thought I’d be posing for selfies with a woman at a llama farm, but there you go.
“See you at six?”
Molly nods. “Text me your address.”
“K. Let me know when you’re on your way and—no rush.”
“Oh, don’t tell me that.” She giggles. “I’ll end up crawling into bed and not waking up until tomorrow.”
“And miss a free meal?”
“I never miss a free meal.” She hasn’t moved another inch. “Don’tcha know food always tastes better when you don’t have to cook it yourself?”
I raise a hand and wave. “See you in a bit.”
She raises hers back. “See ya.”
I watch as she takes one step, then another, to her front door. Watch until she’s safely inside and giving me another cute wave before getting back in my car and driving home.
twenty-one
molly
I don’t remember a second of the movie we watched. Well, that’s not true—I saw some of it. It was a movie that was originally made in the eighties or nineties about an Air Force pilot, or was it a Navy pilot? Who is needed for the force for a special operation or something like that, with lots of men running around bare-chested in the sun playing football on the beach, highway to the danger zone blah blah blah.
Yeah, barely saw any of it.
I was too busy laughing with Eli on the couch. Sitting cross-legged with a plate of sushi on my lap, I eat it with my fingers dipping the rolls in sauce and licking my fingers after each heavenly bite.
I was shocked when I arrived at his address, thinking I’d be stepping into an apartment. But the elevator in the lobby brought me straight to the top floor, straight to the penthouse. And when I stepped out of the elevator car, I wasn’t in a hallway. I was in a foyer.
One with gleaming floors in front of one singular door.
Cold.
Clean.
Not a lot of personal items.
No clutter.
It doesn’t necessarily feel lived in. More like he lives in an advertisement of a swank real estate listing, staged for its new buyers.
Anyway, Eli has made me feel at home.
I’d arrived in leggings and an oversized hoodie, tired from traveling and wanting to be lazy, my casual attire the only way to accomplish that goal.
Snuggle blankets, check.
Pajama bottoms and tee (for him), check.
Sushi.
Snacks.
And yes, in case you’re wondering, I did bring an overnight bag, just in case, though I left it in the car, not wanting to be presumptuous. What if he’s expecting me to leave later? What if he kicks me out?
Don’t be a fool. Eli likes you.
And I like him.
So here we are.
Funny how this all works. You start as friends or start by doing a favor for someone, and suddenly, you’re sucking their dick in a tree house in an entirely different state.
Ha!
He’s watching me take another bite of a California roll, simple sushi, easy to inhale.
I shove the whole piece in my mouth. “What?”
He shakes his head with a laugh, taking my foot and pulling it onto his lap, massaging the bottom of it. “Nothing. You’re cute, that’s all.”
He thinks this is cute? “You think this is cute?” I’m starving, and he’s feeding me. I literally cannot help myself. Now I’m going to turn into a stray cat and want him to feed me over and over, and god forbid I just show up on his doorstep like a loser, uninvited, to be fed.
Not only that, but he’s rubbing my feet.
Rubbing.
My.
Feet!
A girl could get used to this. Surprise trips, delicious food, and foot rubs? Sign me up.
Tired, I yawn, leaning forward to set my plate on the coffee table, the hotties on the giant television dodging and weaving enemy jets, smoke and flames and dramatic music filling the room.
Eli’s eyes are glued to the screen, right to the end.
When it’s over, he turns to me, hand sliding up my leg, palm kneading my calves until I close my eyes and roll my head back.
“You better be careful, or you’re going to spoil me,” I finally tell Eli, lifting my head to get a good look at him. Give his strong forearms a glance, I’m sexually objectifying him—the broad shoulders, the way his thighs look in those pajama bottoms.
Yum.
I try not to look wanton, but I’ve been well fed, and I’m tired, so it’s difficult to school my expression.
“Someone should be spoiling you,” he says, lifting my foot to kiss my big toe.
His knuckles knead the arch of my foot, and I moan.
“That feels so good.”
So, so good.