Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
I roll my eyes. “Yes.”
“Handjobs,” he guesses.
“Yes.”
“Blowjobs?”
“Yes.” I turn toward him. “And I even swallowed.”
Tate, who was mid-sip, spit outs his drink at my proud response. Laughing, he pours himself more champagne. “You wild thing,” he says in amusement.
“Anyway. That’s it. Sexy times by Cassie Soul. HJs and BJs. The end.”
“Nuh-uh,” Tate argues. “That’s what he got out of it. What about you? Did he go down on you?”
“This is not proper friend talk.”
“Sure it is. I talk about sex with my friends all the time.”
“Your girl friends?”
“Sure. You should hear some of Steph’s stories. And she’s bi, so it’s, like, twice the dirty. Sometimes she talks about pussy, other times it’s dick. Exciting times.”
I laugh. “Sounds like it.”
He eyes me over the rim of his glass. “You ever had an orgasm?”
Oh my God.
“Yes,” I grumble. “Both solo and with a partner, before you ask.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone’s cheeks turn that shade of red before.”
“I told you, this isn’t appropriate subject matter.”
“Why, is it turning you on?”
Yes!
“No,” I lie.
He just grins. “So why haven’t you had sex? Waiting for Mr. Right?”
“No.” I sigh. “I’d settle for someone I’m madly attracted to, but I rarely come across that. I swear, my friends walk out their front doors and, bam, they’re hooking up with someone they can’t keep their hands off of. Meanwhile, I’m a total disaster when it comes to meeting men. I babble—have you noticed I babble? And if I do manage to overcome my nerves and actually interact with someone I’m attracted to, they end up not being attracted to me. And then the ones I don’t want are all over me.”
“That’s how it usually goes.”
“I was dating someone last year,” I admit. “Lasted about six months, and there was chemistry, for sure. But something just didn’t fully click. Didn’t feel right. I wasn’t entirely comfortable with him, I guess. And I couldn’t pull the trigger.”
“If you couldn’t pull the trigger with a guy you were dating for six months, how do you expect to do it in one summer? July’s almost over,” Tate reminds me. “Doesn’t leave you with much time to execute your fling plan.”
“I mean, in my defense, I tried pulling the trigger three weeks ago.” A case of the giggles suddenly hits me. “You realize you were literally the first guy I spoke to this summer? What are the odds? I never meet guys I’m attracted to, and I meet one the first night I go out.” I double over laughing. “And you friend-zoned me.”
“Doing okay over there, Soul?”
“I’m great,” I croak between wheezy laughs. “This is hilarious. I’ve been in town almost a month and look what I’ve accomplished. First I go on a date with a dude who learned to kiss in a barnyard. And now I’m lying here stargazing with a hot guy and neither of us is naked because he’s not into it.”
“I never said I wasn’t into it,” he protests.
“Let’s not rehash this,” I say, reaching over to pat his knee. “Don’t worry, I’m not mad or anything. Just stating how absurd this whole situation is.”
Clearly flustered, Tate goes to pour another glass. Only a few drops trickle out of the bottle.
“Shit.” He sounds amazed. “We just killed two bottles of champagne, Cassie. In an hour. We’re fucking barbarians.”
“I think that’s our cue to say good night, then.” My knees are wobbly as I rise from the chair. I scoop up the empty bottles. “Come on, Gate. Walk me home so I don’t trip in the dark and break my neck.”
“Gate ain’t happening, ginger.”
“Oh, it so is.”
Tate rests his palm on my lower back to guide me, keeping me steady as we walk. I’m certain I feel his fingertips move in a light caress. But it’s probably an accident, a result of the fact that we’re stumbling up the path, both a little drunk. Still, there’s something very intimate about the feel of his hand at my back.
I want it on other parts on me.
He wasn’t wrong. I am turned on. Painfully so. I’m practically squeezing my thighs together, desperate to go inside, as we stop and say goodbye on the stretch of manicured grass between our two houses. I want nothing more than to lock myself in my room, slide my fingers in my panties, and bring myself to orgasm thinking about him.
Inside, I make sure all the lights are off because Grandma is forgetful sometimes. Then I enable the alarm and sprint upstairs as quietly as I can. The throbbing between my legs has become unbearable. I’m already unzipping my dress while I hurry down the hall. I enter my room and throw my phone on the bed, hands tugging my bodice down. I let my dress drop to the floor about half a second before remembering I haven’t shut the curtains yet.