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)
“Sorry about the elevator,” I say, backing up a foot. I need space before I do or say anything else embarrassing. He looks even better than he did yesterday. Stupid suit. He’s easily over six feet, broad shoulders, narrow waist. His tie lies flat down his abdomen over what must be perfect abs.
He doesn’t say anything, just trails his eyes over me.
“Pokemon!” I blurt out when I can’t take the silence. See? I’m such an idiot. “Um, okay then,” I add in for good measure and cross my arms across my chest and look at my scuffed shoes. I’m wearing leggings covered in a donut print. Jesus, no wonder he was looking me over. These freaking leggings are all the rage at my school, all the teachers are wearing them. I normally stick to the plain black ones or a modest print, but no, I let one of the other teachers talk me into these during a pop-up sale. “The kids will love them,” she told me. “You can pair it with a cute denim jacket,” she said. I’m burning these the second I get home. No wonder I can’t get laid.
“I was just coming to look for you,” Everly says, interrupting my thoughts. “We’re going to take off. I have to get home and make Sawyer’s dinner,” she deadpans then laughs. “I’m totally kidding. I just wanted to hear what that sounded like coming out of my mouth. Jake does have soccer though, so we have to go. You can show Boyd where Sophie’s room is,” Everly states as she jabs the elevator button.
“Um, yeah.” I glance towards Boyd then give Jake a high-five. “Thanks for helping me catch the Pokemon, buddy.” And then they’re gone and I’m left with Mr. Hottie.
I really need to go home and take off my pants.
Instead I nod to Boyd to follow me towards Sophie’s room. Her room is only a few doors down from the elevator, but it feels like a really long walk with Boyd behind me. His shoes click against the linoleum floor while mine make the occasional squeak. Am I breathing weirdly? I think I’m breathing weirdly. I wonder how ridiculous these leggings look from behind. I remind myself to look in the mirror when I get home just so I have a clear mental image of this moment to torment myself with.
“Is this going to be our thing now?” he asks.
“Donuts?” I ask, confused, glancing at him behind me.
His eyes move to my leggings-covered ass and he laughs. “No, awkward meetings.”
“Why are you dressed like that?” I blurt out, then slap my hand over my mouth.
“Excuse me?” he replies, brows raised.
“Nothing.”
“No, I think you had a question about my clothing?” he says, glancing down at his suit and then back to me. He takes a moment to run his eyes over my donut leggings before meeting my eyes.
“I teach the second grade!” I protest, in defense.
“I catch criminals,” he retorts. “What’s wrong with my suit?”
“The federal government cannot be paying you enough to dress like James Bond.”
“So you like the way I look,” he clarifies with a confident smirk.
“Obviously,” I say, then catch myself and add a sarcastic, “Not,” to the end. What is wrong with me? Why am I behaving like a bitch? If I had any idea what I was doing with men I’d be doing it right now, not insulting him. I pause in front of Sophie’s door and turn to him. “Thank you for going along with me back there,” I say, referring to my fib to Everly about not having met him previously. “I love Everly, but she’s a little…” I trail off.
“Nuts. The girl is nuts,” he says. “But it’s fine. Now you owe me a favor,” he adds with a little lift to his eyebrow, then pushes open the door to Sophie’s room. I follow him in, confused about what kind of favor he could want from me, but I don’t have time to think about it too hard.
“Boyd!” Sophie calls, as we walk into the room. “I’m so glad you could make it. Thank you for the flowers.”
The baby is back in the weird plastic hospital bassinet and she lets out a little cry, calling our attention to her.
“I’ll get her,” I tell Sophie when it looks like she might get out of bed to grab her. “No one should have to get up in one of those hospital gowns,” I add. I calm her and then Sophie insists Boyd should hold his niece.
“I’m good, thanks.” He nods from his position by the window.
“You’ll hold her,” I snip. “She’s only going to be a day old once.”
I realize this is a mistake as soon as I’m in front of him with the baby. Not because he’s not capable, no. He takes the baby with ease. Not because standing this close I now know how good he smells. And not because I now know how freaking firm his chest is against my arm as I gently pass Christine to him. No, all of those things I could handle. It’s the brush of his fingertips against my breast—completely innocent—as the baby is passed from me to him. The brush of fingertips that instantly makes both nipples hard. He didn’t even touch both of them. Is that normal? Are they supposed to get hard together? I mentally add this to my list of things I need to Google as I cross my arms across my chest and step away from him.