Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
When I meet his mother, whose attempt at small talk is coldly sizing me up and asking me to tell her what I like about her son, I guilelessly place my hand on Boyd’s chest and tilt my head to rest on his shoulder. Which as a side note was probably a huge tactical error, because the feel of Boyd’s chest under my hand is distracting. But I manage to persevere.
“How long do you have, Mrs. Gallagher?” I beam at the woman while sliding my other hand behind Boyd’s back. Damn, that’s a mistake too. How much time does this guy spend in the gym?
“Excuse me?” Mrs. Gallagher replies, clearly not understanding where I’m going with this.
“It would take me all evening to tell you everything I love about Boyd, so I was just wondering how much time you had?” I turn my gaze to Boyd midway through speaking to his mom and my heart falters for a minute because I realize that even though I’m fake-gushing to his mom, all of the examples that spring to mind of what I like about Boyd are completely one hundred percent true. Like the way that he looks at me. And how he always holds open the door open for me, even when he’s just arrested my date or he’s taking me shopping for a wedding he’s manipulated me into attending with him. I like the way he kissed me last week without overwhelming me. The way he teases me about my obsession with crime and safety. I like his eyelashes. And most of all I like how patient he is with me.
And when he looks back at me it doesn’t feel like he’s pretending either. He closes the gap between us and kisses me, right in the middle of his cousin’s wedding reception. It’s not a peck and it’s not the aggressive kiss from last weekend against my front door. It’s soft and just long enough to make my stomach drop and my pulse hike into overdrive. And a moment later it’s over and I’m confused. Hot, bothered and confused.
We dance and eat and have a few drinks until I’m yawning and resting my head on Boyd’s shoulder and he kisses the top of my head and says we can leave. I’m in a hazy cloud of contentment that lasts until we reach the hotel room—the hotel room that I’ve yet to see. It starts to fade as the alcohol wears off and Boyd inserts the key into the door. By the time the electronic lock blinks green my anxiety is starting to creep back in. The fake girlfriend part of the evening is over.
The room is stunning, of course. The curtains are open, showcasing the view of the mountain, and there’s a lit fireplace in the corner. These details distract me for approximately three seconds from the real issue with this room.
“Knock, knock, Boyd.”
“Who’s there, Chloe?” He looks amused, and hotter than should be legal as he undoes his tie.
“One bed! One bed is here, that’s who.” I don’t realize I’ve stomped my foot in emphasis until I catch Boyd’s gaze traveling down my leg. Then he laughs while slipping the cufflinks out of his shirt and rolling the sleeves back while my nerves skyrocket. What am I doing here? How did I allow this to happen? My brief experiences with sex never included an overnight—they included getting home by curfew or retreating back to my own dorm room when it was over. And while I don’t think Boyd wants to have sex with me, spending the night with him in the same bed is almost as nerve-racking.
“Sorry,” he says, glancing at me. “This was the only room they had left. I can sleep on the couch if that would make you more comfortable?”
I glance at the couch and feel stupid. “Of course not, it’s fine.”
He watches me for another moment attentively then nods. “You can change in the bathroom. Your suitcase is on a stand in the wardrobe,” he tells me, nodding at the furniture behind me.
I open the doors and dig into my suitcase, still gnawing on my lip when I feel him behind me. “Do you need help with the zipper?” he asks.
Yes. Yes, I do need help with the zipper. I nod and he unzips a very modest length before telling me I should able to get it from there. His voice is soft but husky and I don’t want to get it from there. I want him to yank the dress from my body and fuck me against the wall, but I don’t know how to ask for that. I barely know how to be alone with him.
I take refuge in the bathroom and close the double doors behind me. Apparently just one door isn’t enough for a fancy bathroom in a five-star hotel. I don’t see any obvious way to lock it though, so I settle for shutting the doors firmly so they won’t spring open before washing my makeup off and brushing my teeth. Then I yank on the lavender cotton sleep shorts and gray long-sleeved waffle-knit tee I brought to sleep in and remove the pins from my hair while running my fingers through it.