Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“Sounds good,” Dev says.
“And the grape stomping. We can do that too.”
“Cool,” Ledger says from the back seat.
I don’t stop. I want them to know I’ve planned a damn good time for us. “There’s an old logging town that’s supposedly like a ghost town now. I love ghost towns, and—”
“Aubs.” Dev’s voice is like a warning as he flicks the turn signal at a sign for the ferry terminal.
Shoot. Is he mad at me? For what?
“Yes?”
“I’m good with anything. We’re good with anything. You don’t have to be a tour guide. We’re gonna have fun,” he says, and there he goes again, reading me. Figuring me out.
I close my eyes for a second, feeling foolish for having tried so hard. But, in my defense, my libido’s been stealing the stage.
“We will,” I say.
Once we turn into the ferry lot, Dev heads down a lane for boarding and pays for the ride. “It’s all good. We can play it by ear, or we can take turns planning each day,” he says, and dammit. With those words—take turns—my mind’s off to the races again, picturing them taking turns with me as Sam Smith plays in the dimly lit hotel room.
We make small talk as we line up to drive onto the ferry, then as we hang out on the main deck overlooking the bright blue water of the sound. But I’m taking in Dev, his messy hair, his bright eyes, his trim beard, his teal polo shirt. Ledger, with his inked forearm, his trim haircut, his black shirt.
“That’s a nice shirt. You look good in black,” I say to Ledger, like I’m just giving friendly fashion advice.
He doesn’t answer right away. Just lets a slow, almost seductive smile form on his lush lips. “Good. Because my whole wardrobe is black,” he says.
“It is?”
“All my shirts are black. Different shades of black,” he says.
That’s kind of hot in a way I didn’t expect. Maybe because he’s a man who’s decided this is who I am. This is what I wear. That’s sexy, knowing yourself.
Just as Dev is sexy with his music playlist, his superstitions, and his big, open heart.
They’re different in ways that intrigue me and similar in ways that interest me. As the horn blasts, signaling the ferry’s pulling away, I’m struck with a crystal-clear realization.
I’m wildly attracted to both of them. Just like my friends predicted.
If anyone asked me what I talked about on the drive to the inn, I’d be hard-pressed to answer in any kind of intelligent detail.
My head is clogged with one potent thought—I almost got married yesterday and today I’m lusting wickedly after the two men I’m double honeymooning with.
Did I know they were attractive when I planned this trip with them late last night? Of course. But I didn’t expect to feel this shivery sensation that’s been wreaking havoc with my senses. Only, my lust is growing stronger, beating louder, spreading through my whole damn body.
When we pull up to the inn, it’s like I’m floating on a cloud of delectable cologne. Cedar and soft suede, the scent of Dev. Nighttime and the ocean, signaling Ledger.
As we get out of the car, I draw a big inhale of the faint sea breeze air, hoping it recalibrates me.
Once I get to the suite, I’ll go to my room with its own en-suite bathroom. I’ll get my bearings. I’ll take a shower. Wash the dirty thoughts out of my head. Deal with the trip and shelve this lust.
With my suitcase and resolve in hand, I go inside with my brother’s best friends.
Blackberry Inn isn’t a tiny B and B. It has maybe fifty to seventy-five rooms and it’s spread out over a cliff, overlooking the water. I home in on the details in the lobby. The walls are painted a rich orange, contrasting with the wooden beams on the ceiling. Vintage maps line the walls, nestled alongside sea glass artwork. It’s rustic meets modern.
At the front desk, a man with ginger hair, freckles sprinkled across his pale skin, and small brown eyes greets us. “Good afternoon. Are you checking into the Blackberry Inn?”
His accent is British, which is unusual in the Pacific Northwest.
“Yes, we are…Harry…” Ledger says, reading the name tag indicating he’s the general manager, but then Ledger stops short at the last name. Titterington. That’s, um, a mouthful. Clearing his throat, Ledger starts again. “Aubrey Emerson. We called last night to change it from the honeymoon suite to a three-room suite.”
Harry flashes a professional ready-to-help smile. “Ah yes, the family suite. Very popular.” Harry scans the computer. Squints. “When did you say you called?”
“Last night,” Ledger adds. He’s calm, but my pulse speeds up. Harry’s question concerns me.
“Yes, last night,” I repeat, like that’ll help Harry find it faster.
“Right. I see a note about the request,” he says.