Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
They don’t say anything, just wheel them into the bathroom, do what they came to do, and then… a few moments later, they’re gone.
I’m still standing. Cordelia is still sitting, but now with an expression of awe on her face.
I walk over to her and extend my hand. “Come with me. Let’s take a look at your wish.”
I lead her around the couch, across the living room, and into the bedroom. The light in here is soft and low—just the two bedside lamps on. But it’s more than enough light to see her book, that masterpiece called Filling the Gap, lying in the center of the bed like it’s been waiting for us.
But we don’t stop. She said no book talk, and I’m happy to grant that wish. We will have plenty of time for that in the upcoming days, and weeks, and months.
Dare I even say… years?
My attention is split between the wish-granting and writing a blurb for a romance novel starring moi and the lovely Cordelia Sarantopoulos, but when we walk into the bathroom, the scent of fresh rose petals wipes my mind of hooks, conflict, and calls to action.
“Wow.” Cordelia breathes this word out.
“Yeah. Like… wow. Even I’m impressed. And I’ve asked for some crazy shit on this app before.”
The tub is oval-shaped and takes up the entire center of the room. And, as asked for, it’s filled to capacity with rainbow-colored rose petals.
“It looks like a unicorn threw up.”
She sighs. “Yeah. It really does.” Then she looks up at me with wide eyes. “Where did they get them? I mean, rainbow roses aren’t a thing.”
I shrug. “They are when you have money.”
She laughs a little, shaking her head in disbelief at the tub. “I guess.”
“Well?”
“Well?” She tips her face up to look at me. “What?”
“Let’s do this.” I let go of her hand, walk over to the tub, get in—shoes and all—and lean back, stretching my arms along the sides of the tub, smirking. “Come on in. The petals are fine.”
She grins, beaming, then lifts up her flapper dress, gets in the tub, and settles on the opposite end. Placing her arms along the sides of the tub just like I have.
“This is weird,” Cordelia says.
“Why?”
“Because there’s no water.” I splash her with rose petals and she giggles. “It’s kinda ridiculous.”
“It’s pretty fuckin’ awesome if you ask me. I mean, I’ve wished for lots of stuff on that app, but a dream date?” I pause here. I know she’s running those words through her mind. ‘Dream date.’ “I wanna say I should’ve thought of this a long time ago, but then again…” I’m staring at her. And we get caught up in a moment.
“Then again what?” She’s whispering.
“Then again, this is the perfect time. And if I had already tried it before, it would just be cliché.”
She sighs and visibly relaxes. Cordelia, not one to jump into a tub of rainbow rose petals on a whim, decides to live in this moment. To embrace it. Put her arms all the way around it and give it a hug.
I’m not really sure if she feels this way—I’m playing third-person omniscient narrator here, which is quite fun, I decide—but I really do think she is enjoying this to the fullest.
I like the start of this impromptu date. I’ve written many—man-nnnneee—date scenes in my day. Every one of them as spectacular as the last. Most of them very fuckin’ dirty. So dirty that when I narrate them, I nearly blush. Nearly, but not quite. I am not squeamish about dirty sex.
But this is Cordelia Sarantopoulos. I can foresee a time in the future—after we’ve had all our get-to-know-each-other moments—when dear Cordy here might be up for a gag or a blindfold. But that’s not what she’s looking for tonight.
She is a romantic. Correction, capital-R Romantic. And our rose-petal bath proves it.
She smiles dreamily at me from across the tub, then holds up a finger. “You are a contradiction.”
“Am I?”
She nods. Slowly. Her eyes at half-mast.
“How so?”
“Hmmmmm.” She drags this sound out, kinda sexily. I like it. “How are you not? You’re like—cover-model handsome, but you come off as this… this… nice guy.”
“Really? Cover model?” I hadn’t thought of putting myself on the covers, but that would’ve saved me a lot of money in male-model photoshoots over the years.
“Come on.” Dear Cordelia almost snorts. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Pretend like you don’t know how hot you are.”
I grin. “You think I’m hot.”
“Steve! You are hot. It doesn’t matter what I think. You’re like… all athletic and shit. You must work out like all day long. Does working for your sister come with a personal trainer or something?”
“No. I actually don’t work out. Not since high school.”
“Shut up.” She splashes me with rose petals. “That’s such a lie. Your body is perfect.”