Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 122125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Yeah. I know. Pretty damn crazy, huh?
I, Ty Winslow, have found the one woman who makes me the kind of man I used to make fun of Flynn and Jude for being. And even though I hate to say that ol’ Crazy Cleo was right, the quack was right—fate led me to finding the one woman I want to spend forever with.
And after Remy drops off the ring he picked up for me from an expensive LA boutique while he was in town meeting with some rich hedge fund investors, I plan to get down on one knee and ask Rachel to marry me.
The whole idea makes me smile so big it should be embarrassing, but fuck, I’m a man in love, and I don’t care who knows it.
“It’s all happening, Tilly!” I announce as I shove my phone into my pocket and walk out of the kitchen, heading into the living room to plop my ass on the couch and watch a little ESPN until Rem gets here. But my plans are jolted when I hear the familiar sounds of keys jingling against the front door.
What the…?
I walk toward the foyer just as Rachel bursts inside our apartment.
“Holy hot tamales!” she exclaims, swiping beads of sweat off her forehead with one hand as she juggles her purse and messenger bag with the other. She kicks the door shut with her foot and drops everything in her hands unceremoniously to the floor. “Why is it so flipping hot outside?”
Oh no. Oh no, no, no. This is not part of the plan!
“W-what are you doing home?” I ask, anxiety clutching at my chest. Remy is on his way, with her freaking engagement ring, and while I love her with every piece of my being, she is not supposed to be here right now.
“The AC was out in class,” she says on a dramatic sigh, fanning herself with both hands. “It was absolute misery. Everyone was sweating, and eventually, the professor just gave up and let us go home.”
“Oh…” Fuck.
Every Saturday for the past few weeks, Rachel has been taking a summer writing workshop with a professor who focuses solely on poetry. It’s something she’s doing for herself, outside of her grad school classes, and I couldn’t be any prouder of her.
But again, she’s not supposed to be here.
“It’s so freaking hot outside, Ty,” she comments and slips off her sandals before heading straight to the kitchen, and all I can do is follow her like a confused fucking puppy.
With a swing of her arm, she opens the fridge door and grabs a bottle of water. And it feels like she has half the thing chugged down before I can blink or, you know, figure out what in the hell I’m going to do.
“So…uh…class was canceled?”
“Yeah.” Rachel looks at me with a tilt of her head. “Like I said before, the AC was out, and we were all sweating like fools. It was either cancel class or call ten ambulances for heatstroke victims.”
“So, no writing workshop today, then…” I pause and scrub a hand down my face.
Shit. Shit. Shit. I had a whole thing planned. A sexy dinner and a dessert that revolved around me eating whipped cream off Rachel’s glorious pussy until she was all lax with pleasure and in the perfect mind-set for me to get down on one knee and propose.
“Ty? Are you okay?”
“Of course.” I clear my throat and meet her eyes again. “Why?”
Her grin is equal parts amused and suspicious. “Because you’re acting weird.”
“Me? Weird?” I shake my head. “No way.”
“Okay, weirdo.” Rachel just laughs and walks out of the kitchen and down the hallway that leads to our bedroom.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to go take a shower,” she calls over her shoulder, and I don’t miss the hilarity in her voice. “Are you sure you’re okay, weirdo?”
Get it together, man. If this was a game of poker, you’d be showing all your fucking cards to the table.
I scrub a hand down my face again and try to pull myself together.
This doesn’t have to ruin my plans. Surely I can make up some excuse why Remy is going to stop by? Or hell, maybe I can just tell her I need to run an errand and meet him downstairs in the lobby?
Yeah. That could work.
I pull my cell out of my pocket and shoot Rem a quick text.
Me: What’s your ETA?
When no response comes in, I head into our bedroom to give Rachel some excuse about needing to run to my office so I can just wait for Rem downstairs, but I find my beautiful, sexy woman standing there, removing all her clothes. First her shirt, then her bra, then her shorts and panties, and before I know it, I’m one-hundred-percent invested in the show.
And it’s as if my body has a mind of its own, my feet moving of their own accord, and one hand dropping my phone onto the nightstand before it joins the other one in reaching out to grab Rachel’s perfect tits.