Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“It looks like you were on a yacht living life,” Evan says, getting up, and I just shake my head. “I’m going to go do some cardio. Anyone coming?”
“I have an appointment with Zoe,” Viktor says from his own bench. “Maybe another time.” He takes his stuff and walks out of the room.
“What about you?” Evan asks me.
“I have to eat. Maybe I’ll catch you later,” I tell him as I pull off my jersey, and he walks out of the room. I grab my phone and see that I have one missed call and five emails. I open the emails first, seeing that I have to answer a couple of questions for the opening of the New Orleans store. Then I spot a weird number and press the voice mail button. Her voice comes through right away, and my face lights up with a smile immediately. She sounds nervous, and I wonder if I should call her back. I’m dying to call her back, but I put the phone down and take a shower instead. The rest of the day goes by so fast, and I have dinner with a couple of people from the SPCA to see about doing some ads to bring awareness to animal cruelty. When I finally get home, I take out my phone and see it’s way too late to call her. So I text her instead.
Me: I just got in; the day got ahead of me. Give me a call tomorrow morning and we can talk about my package.
I think about sending it and then just put the phone down. I turn on the television and watch the news, and then right before I’m about to drift off to sleep, I think about sending it again. Instead, I delete it.
The next morning, my alarm rings at seven, and I get out of bed, walking to the kitchen in my boxers. I turn on the television and start the coffee while I go to the bathroom. Sitting on the couch with my coffee in my hand, I watch SportsCenter and see that hockey is slowly coming back into the news. Since preseason starts soon, I watch it for an hour and then grab my phone and call her, not even thinking that it’s early.
“You better be dead or bleeding,” she mumbles, and I laugh.
“Good morning, sunshine,” I tell her, and then she groans.
“It’s eight a.m.,” she moans.
“It’s time to get up,” I say. She moans again, waking my cock. “Meet me for breakfast.”
“What?” she finally says, and I wonder what she wears to bed.
“Come and have breakfast with me,” I say again. “My house.”
“Is that a code for come and suck my cock?” she asks, and I shake my head and laugh.
“It’s code for come and eat.” My voice gets soft. “If my cock is on the menu, that will be your decision.”
“Now, we are talking,” she says, and I hear her stretching. “I’m really hungry.”
“Good. I’ll have things ready when you get here,” I tell her. “I’ll text you my address, and you text me when you will be here.”
“D’accord,” she says and hangs up, and I look at the phone.
What the hell does D’accord mean? I press the button on the phone. “Siri, what does d’accord mean?”
She answers me right away. “Décor means the furnishing and decoration of a room.”
“No, not décor,” I say and then open my Google translate page and put in “daccord,” and it tells me it means okay.
I get my shorts on and a shirt and run down to the bakery where I get an assortment of French pastries, some fruit, and grab a can of whipped cream. Hey, you never know, right? I’m walking in the door when my phone beeps in my pocket, and I see it’s from Vivienne.
Vivienne: I will be there in an hour. Breakfast better be ready.
Me: Are we still talking about my cock?
Vivienne: Trust me, when we talk about your cock, you’ll know.
Me: D’accord.
I put my phone down after I answer her. Grabbing a plate from the cabinet, I put the pastries on it and then cut up the fruit. I start the coffee and then hear the doorbell ring. I walk to it and see that it’s the delivery guy with two bags. I grab the bags and head back into the kitchen and open them. Eggs and pancakes and some French toast.
When the bell rings again twenty minutes later, I know it’s her. I get up from the couch and look down at myself. Maybe I should have changed; my heart speeds up just a touch, and my hands get clammy. I walk to the door and open it with a smile on my face, and it’s a good thing because she literally takes my breath away. She stands there looking like she just walked off the runway. She’s wearing a light pink long flowy skirt with a brown belt and a white camisole with spaghetti straps and not a bra strap in sight. Her long black hair tucked into her tan hat that she is wearing. “Well, well, well,” I finally say, and she walks in. Now I see the sexiness to the skirt, her entire legs are exposed to her thighs when she walks, exposing her tan strappy sandals.