Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
We went for it not once, but twice before regaining our composure, which was wildly reckless of us for multiple reasons. First of all, anyone could have walked out of that bar, turned the corner, and seen Luke buck naked in that back seat. Second of all, there was absolutely no discussion about birth control prior to either wild sex session #1 or #2. It’s like our brains completely left our bodies. I mean, I have an IUD, but he didn’t know that. I told him on the way home, and he didn’t seem all that relieved to hear it. It was more like I was stating a fact. Oh look, that street name is Huckleberry Lane. I like sandwiches. And by the way, my gynecologist placed a copper device in my uterus so there will be no surprise pregnancy for us.
It also felt important to mention I’d been screened recently given the circumstances with Miles *cough* the asshole.
“I’m sorry for not being more clearheaded,” he said, taking my hand across the center console. “We should have talked about it.”
“Hey, it’s okay. We’re equally to blame. And to be fair, that was like really hot. The way we just tore each other’s clothes off like…dang.” I exhaled an unsteady breath, still trying to regain my composure. “Had you pulled out a condom, I probably would have chucked it out the window anyway.”
He laughed, but I could tell it was still bothering him. He takes his job as a protector so seriously. It comes so naturally for him. I’ve seen the way he is with Harper, and I know he feels like he might have put me in harm’s way by skipping those important questions, but in the end, he didn’t. We’ll be okay.
When we got back to the house, it was late. Harper and Tate were both in bed, so we tiptoed through the house. I tried to kiss Luke good night at the stairs and send him packing, but he wasn’t having it. He trailed behind me, our fingers laced together as we took turns shushing the other’s too-loud footsteps then trying to quell our laughter. Up in my room, he took me into the shower and we washed off together. There was some above-the-waist fondling, of course. I don’t think a guy can be around a pair of naked breasts and not touch them. That led to other things…like me on my knees on the tile, my mouth becoming very well acquainted with his penis. Then after, I gave myself a bubbly soap mustache and beard, which totally killed. Take notes, ladies.
He helped me into my pajamas and sat with me on the side of my bed.
“What’s going to happen now?” I asked sleepily.
He bent down to kiss me. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
Well guess what, it’s tomorrow, and I feel like my life is spiraling out of control. It’s all blowjobs in the shower one second and then MAYBE MOVING IN WITH A PROFESSIONAL BASEBALL PLAYER the next!
I’ve never had one, but I feel like I might be on the verge of a panic attack. What in the world is happening? My palms are sweating. My heart is going so fast it can’t be healthy. Surely it’ll burst. I press my hand against my chest and tell myself to calm down, but I don’t calm down.
I look over at the clock. It’s 9:05 AM. I’ve overslept.
I never oversleep. How embarrassing.
Luke is going to think I’m already abusing his good will. This is still a job until specified otherwise. I have to cook.
I immediately toss myself out of bed and put together an outfit from the first clean clothes my hands touch in the closet. My hair gets tossed into a bun and my teeth get brushed, sort of. Then I’m flying down the stairs, thinking of what I can make for breakfast that won’t take too long. Eggs, of course. I can whip up some fluffy cheesy scrambled eggs in no time at all.
It doesn’t seem odd to me that the rest of the house is eerily quiet or that the backyard is still pitch black through the kitchen windows. In fact, I’m relieved to find the kitchen empty. I assumed everyone would be down here, tapping their feet, anxious for food, but maybe they all needed a little extra sleep this morning too. It’s only when I go over to get some coffee brewing that I read the time on the oven.
6:12 AM.
WHAT?
Oh god. My sleep-addled brain must have flipped the 6 to a 9 upstairs in my room. I didn’t oversleep. In fact, my alarm has yet to go off.
Well hell.
I guess there’s a lot of time to prepare a real breakfast now. I have pre-proved croissants in the freezer ready to be popped into the oven, but I make another batch to replace those. I work in the dim light of the kitchen, laying out each ingredient, feeling that tight ball of anxiety in my chest start to ease as I complete each step. I love rolling out the butter, creating a large rectangle that’s easy to laminate into my pastry. I can remember Ms. Paulette first telling me croissants are about precision and clean lines, and I revel in that control this morning. I sprinkle some flour out onto the counter and get to work with my wooden rolling pin, layering and layering the pastry.