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)
I grab both coffees and walk over to the coffee station, Boyd behind me with the donuts.
“There is no way you’re eating four donuts.” He shakes his head at me, a smile on his lips.
“No,” I agree. “But I can taste four donuts.”
He nods. “That was a nice girlfriend move back there.”
“What?” I ask, confused by what he means. I remove the lid from my coffee and add in a couple of fake sugars and creamer. “Do you want anything added to yours?” I nod towards the second cup.
“Black is fine,” he says. “The ‘ordering food for me so you can eat it’ thing.” He gestures to the counter. “You’re already a professional.”
“Thanks.”
“Although I’ve never had a date order three donuts for themselves to start with.” He winks.
“Like you take dates out for donuts,” I retort sarcastically.
“No? Where do I take them?” he asks, guiding me to a couple of empty stools at the window counter looking out over 19th Street. I set the coffees down and hop up on the stool, my feet resting on the metal stool rung. Boyd sprawls on his stool, one foot flat on the floor, the other knee bent, his body turned towards mine. I give him a quick once-over before answering. I can’t help it.
“The gym. I think you take them to the gym. Or ask them out at the gym and then take them for drinks and sex.”
He looks like he’s thinking about that as he opens the donut box between us and picks up the cinnamon sugar. “Am I allowed to eat this one?” he asks, brows raised.
“Of course, silly, that one’s yours.” I wonder what it tastes like though, giving it another glance as I pick up the dulce de leche and take a bite before setting it back in the box. I take a sip of coffee before moving on to the pumpkin, while eyeing the salted chocolate caramel and the Nutella. I think I’ll try the salted chocolate caramel before the Nutella. Yup, that’s my game plan. I put down the pumpkin and pick up the next donut and catch Boyd looking at me.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He shakes his head, watching me stuff the salted chocolate into my mouth.
“You should try the pumpkin,” I offer while eyeing the cinnamon sugar in his hand again. “It’s seasonal,” I add, as a sales pitch.
He hands me his half-eaten cinnamon sugar and I grin before taking a bite and handing the rest back. “Thanks,” I tell him after another sip of coffee. “That was a good palate cleanser before the main event.”
“A donut palate cleanser?”
“Yup.” He finishes off his donut while I pick up the Nutella. “Do you want a bite of this one? Because I may not be able to stop once I start.”
He looks from me to the donut then out the front window before declining, a distracted look on his face. He’s probably in a hurry to get shopping.
I take a bite, careful not to dump the powdered sugar topping all over my shirt. Luckily I’m wearing white though, so it’d blend in anyway. The Nutella hits my tongue and I moan. Perfection. I might have to finish this entire donut. I take another bite and wiggle in my seat in sugar bliss while Boyd laughs at me. He picks up the pumpkin and polishes it off as I take another bite of Nutella nirvana. When I’m done I wipe my hands off with a paper napkin and grab my cup. Boyd’s staring at me like he’s ready to go.
“You’ve got powdered sugar,” he says and reaches over, using his thumb to wipe the corner of my mouth. I freeze, surprised that he’s touching me and feeling like it’s oddly intimate for him to be wiping my lip for me, yet liking it. I like it a lot, but this is Boyd, so I don’t think it means anything—even though my heart is racing and his eyes are magnetic. Then he’s tucking a strand of hair behind my ear and standing and the moment is over.
“Let’s go,” he says, pulling his sunglasses off the collar of his shirt and sliding them on.
Okay, sure. Let’s go. Whatever just happened was totally in my mind obviously. We exit Dough, heading the opposite direction on 19th Street.
“Oh, a Container Store,” I gush upon seeing the organizational store.
“Does that get you all hot and bothered, Chloe? Did you want to stop?”
“Shut up,” I say as we cross the street. “Maybe later.” We turn on 6th Avenue then on 17th and a short walk later we’re outside of Barney’s. I stop outside the doors. “Seriously?”
“What’s wrong with Barney’s?” he asks.
“It seems a little stuffy.”
“The wedding will be a little stuffy too,” he says, removing his sunglasses and sliding them over his shirt collar. “Remember we’re practicing,” he adds and then grabs my hand and walks me inside.