Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
The only saving grace to this day is that I’m going to have a few pleasurable hours with Trey, hopefully creating a repeat performance of last night on the dock. It’s actually a little cool tonight so the summery thin cotton dress I chose might not be the wisest decision, but if anyone can warm me up, it’s Trey Blackburn and his sinful mouth and hands. Just the thought of it causes me to shiver, and when I hear his truck coming down the road, my heart rate double-times it.
And there he is, his dark gray truck bouncing over the potholes my dad never fixed in our driveway. I start walking his way, intent on hopping in, but he opens the door and steps out before I reach him.
And man… he’s a yummy sight, dressed in a crisp button-up shirt and jeans that fit him just right. He meets me at the front of the truck and walks me to the passenger door, opening it for me. It’s very romantic—and it makes me suspicious. I take a more critical look at him from the clean-shaven face to his outfit and exclaim, “We’re not going fishing, are we?”
“What makes you say that?” he asks with a devilish grin.
“Because you’re all dressed up and you’re opening the door for me. This feels like a date.”
“Holland,” he chastises with a dip of his head. “I’m wearing jeans so that’s hardly dressing up. And I’m sorry if my southern manners got the better of me. I won’t let it happen again.”
To prove his point, he releases the door and holds up his hands in mock surrender.
I narrow my eyes at him. “So this isn’t a date?”
“Oh, it’s totally a date.” He grins and walks around the back of the truck, leaving me to get in on my own.
“Ugh,” I growl as I scramble for the door. He’s already in as I’m clambering up and I glare at him. “I’m not going on a date with you. I want to go fishing.”
Trey cranks the truck and puts it in reverse, but before easing off the brake, he turns his head to me with a frown. “Is fishing a metaphor for sex? I’m confused at this point.”
“Yes, it’s a metaphor for sex,” I grit out.
“Then we’re definitely going fishing,” he says with a wide smile. “But not at the pond and we’re going to eat dinner first.”
“Sounds like a date,” I grumble as I put my seat belt on. Trey backs out of the driveway and we’re off.
“Consider it fueling up our bodies for a long fishing expedition.” He laughs at his own joke.
“Where are we going to eat?”
“Louisville,” he replies.
“No, Trey,” I snap at him. “We can eat somewhere here.”
“We’re going to Louisville and then I’ve got a room booked at The Brown Hotel. That’s where we’ll be fishing tonight.”
A flurry of anger and fuzzy feelings hit me, but it’s the anger that takes over. “No, no, no. We are not going there. That place has special meaning and—”
“Just zip it, Holland. I want a nice meal and a comfortable bed to fuck you on. I’m sorry if the Brown stirs up bad memories but that’s where I’m booked, so either go with it or I’ll take you back right now.”
Trey’s voice never rose or fell but I can tell he’s annoyed. But so am I. The Brown is a special place because that’s where we often spent the night together that summer we fell in love. I’d lie to my mom and tell her I was staying at the Blackburns, but we went to Louisville where we didn’t have to pretend and we could be fully open in our relationship and love for each other.
I think it rubs me the wrong way simply because we’re just repeating history. It’s also going to stir up a lot of good memories that I’ve been trying to keep pushed firmly out of my mind.
“We agreed to keep this casual,” I mutter, needing to have the final word, although my unwillingness to have him take me home means I’ve given in.
“Holland.” He sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “I just thought it would be nice. A good meal, a comfortable hotel room versus a hard wooden dock. And yes, it’s a special place to me and I’m guessing by your reaction, it’s special to you as well.”
I won’t ever admit that he’s right. In fact, I lie through my teeth. “It was a special place,” I correct him. “That was eleven years ago, Trey. Now it’s just a hotel, nothing more.”
Trey chuckles and seals the trap. “Good. If it’s just a hotel, nothing more, you should have no problem staying there with me tonight and using me as you see fit.”
I seethe over how easy it is to play his game because he’s just that confident he can make a dent in my walls. I stare out the window, the familiar scenery of Shelbyville blurring as we head toward Louisville. Trey says he’s just looking for a nice evening but he’s driving us toward a confrontation with our past.