Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Hollis blinks, then blinks again, like I can’t actually have said that. “Okay, so this guy steals your cat. And for the record, if someone stole my cat, I would have them arrested for a felony. Now, he’s talked shit about your fucking sex life? Can I say it?”
“Say what?” I ask, curiously.
“I would like to murder him.”
It’s spoken nonchalantly, like the only answer for an ex-hole of this magnitude is offing him—and I like it.
“But then how would you take care of the cat in prison?” I ask.
He hums thoughtfully. “You’re right. I will refrain from murder for now.”
“Then I won’t go into details on how he basically said he never liked kissing me,” I say. Maybe I am ruining a flirty vibe. But the fact is I’m still ridiculously hurt from reading Steven’s veiled but cruel words.
Hollis’s eyes are fiery with rage. Maybe he would like to unalive Steven. “He really wrote that?”
“He did. I don’t know why I ever trusted him, and I don’t know why I didn’t see this nasty side in him.” Though maybe I do. Steven was all in from the start. For someone who’s always sure she’s being left, Steven’s commitment was a drug. I knock back the rest of my wine, then sigh in admission. “But maybe he’s right. I’m not sure I loved kissing him either. I don’t know that I felt the chemistry either.”
Hollis’s smile is pleased and a little smug. “There you go,” he says, slapping the water, almost triumphantly. “It wasn’t you. It was him.”
“I appreciate that. But doesn’t it take two to kiss?”
“It does. But that’s only part of what makes a kiss good,” Hollis says, and his tone is rougher, a little husky.
Just like that, we’re not talking about my ex anymore. We’re talking about kissing. “Well, what’s the other part?”
The water bubbles around us. My playlist shifts to a romantic tune, a little sultry, a touch sexy, and I’m not entirely sure how this tune is on this playlist, but the pulsing sounds and the soft groove seem to melt into the night. “Communication. Understanding what a woman wants. Listening to her. Reading her body language. Giving her what she needs.”
A hot curl of desire unfurls inside my chest, like liquid heat pouring through my body. “Like what sort of things would she need?”
His deep blue eyes hold mine, and for a few seconds, restraint seems to flicker across his irises. Maybe even a touch of concern. For me? For my recent breakup? I’m not sure. But he must let go of his questions, since he asks me instead, “Does she like it slow and sensual? Hot and passionate? Deep and possessive? A gentle caress? An exploration?”
I don’t say a word for several seconds. I just feel his words. The possibilities. And the dangerous flutters in my chest. Then, because tonight I’m not holding back, I admit something else. “I don’t know the answers,” I say.
“Why’s that?” he asks, like he can’t let go of this train of thought either.
I could blame the hot tub. I could maybe blame the wine but I’ve only had two glasses in two hours. Instead, I blame my ex as I serve up the next truth. “He’s the only guy I’ve been with for the last few years. I’m not even sure I’ve ever had a really great kiss. The kind that makes your knees weak. That makes your chest tingle. That feels like melting. With him or anyone.”
There. It’s said. It’s out there. I’m the yoga girl who’s supposedly in touch with her body, but I’ve never truly enjoyed intimacy with another person.
I’ve had sex. I just haven’t ever loved it. I’d like to though.
Hollis is flustered for a few seconds, mouth agape, eyes wide. “But that’s terrible. That’s criminal. That’s…just wrong.” Then he shakes off his shock. He’s strong, confident, the guy who scaled a balcony to rescue a cat. “Everyone should have a great kiss.”
I tilt my head, offer a small and hopefully seductive smile. “Why’s that?”
“Because kissing is another thing that shouldn’t be rushed. It should be savored. It should be enjoyed. It should be drunk slowly like a glass of fine wine.”
I don’t feel like the mom of the group tonight. I don’t feel like the wingwoman. I feel like my own problem solver. The girl who’s had enough bad luck. “I don’t know what that’s like.” Then I push past my nerves. “But I’d like to. Maybe this should be the real favor.”
He studies me, and questions seem to flash across his eyes. Contemplation, like he’s wrestling with something. I see restraint in them once more, then guilt flickers again, clear and obvious. I don’t know what to make of the guilt but it passes, turning into fuck it. “Let me make one thing clear—this is not a favor. You don’t owe me this. But I really want to kiss you, and I’d love to help you figure out how you want to be kissed.”