Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72648 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72648 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Bailey snort laughs. “Good one.”
“I actually like hot dogs,” I say in a more serious tone. “But roasted over an open fire. That’s the best.”
She gives me a surprised glance. “When have you ever cooked hot dogs over an open fire?”
“Believe it or not, Miss Robbins,” I reply drolly. “I’m quite the outdoorsman. I enjoy camping and fishing, and I know how to cook food over a flame.”
“Wow,” she murmurs, pulling her dog toward her mouth. “Color me impressed.”
We eat in silence as we make our way toward where we’d left the car. When I’m done and balling up the paper wrapper to toss in the next street can we come upon, I say, “You know that’s not enough to suffice for an actual dinner, right?”
“I figured as much,” she replies, having finished her hot dog. She nabs my wrapper from my hand, crumples it with her trash, and tosses it in a garbage can we stroll by. After, she takes my hand and laces her fingers through mine, and yeah… that’s something I could get used to as well.
Touch.
I never thought much of it before, yet now I’m analyzing exactly how her skin feels against mine and wondering why it makes me feel good.
“Where to next?” she asks.
“A mattress store,” I reply. “Then a good dinner somewhere.”
Her laugh drowns out the Old Town sounds around me. Blots out the bright lights, the street smells, and throngs of people. Places me in a vacuum that doesn’t feel isolated at all. On the contrary, it’s just her and me and a feeling of completeness.
My head spins with the realization that this thing I have going with Bailey is way more than just some step we’ve taken to spend more time with each other. She’s provoking more than just need and desire. She’s tapping into my emotions on a level I’d long thought was dead.
I’m not ashamed to admit—only to myself, of course—that it freaks me the fuck out.
It also excites me and makes me have a sense of… is that hope? For a different future? A better life?
I have no clue what the fuck any of this means. For now, though, I tighten my hand on hers and decide to go with it.
CHAPTER 22
Bailey
“Are you over your snit about me buying you a new mattress?” Declan asks.
The question surprises me. I put my Italian sub I’d been about to take a bite of down, then wipe my fingers on my napkin. We’re currently having a work lunch in his office. Like hot dogs, watching Declan eat something as mundane as a sub threatens to give me the giggles.
My chin lifts in challenge, and I know there’s a gleam in my eye. “I was not in a snit.”
Well, I was. I thought he was totally joking about it when we went Saturday after our time in Old Town, but no… he was dead serious. He bought a two-thousand-dollar mattress over much argument and consternation. I thought it was too extravagant for my home, and I didn’t want him to think his money was an attraction for me.
But he won. He just rolled right over me and got what he wanted, using charming smiles and touches while the sales associate rang up his purchase. He even paid a delivery premium to have it delivered on Sunday.
As we sit here on Monday in his office, I’ll never admit that I quickly got over my snit when we slept on it last night. I mean, we did lots of other things on it first, and, wow, was it heaven. And maybe it’s because Declan wore me out, or maybe it was the pillow top, but it was the best sleep I think I ever had in my life.
Declan doesn’t argue, merely watches me from across his desk. “Why do you ask if I’m over my snit?” I press.
“Well,” he drawls, setting his sub on the wrapper and mimicking my earlier actions by wiping his hands, then his mouth, with a napkin. “I want to update your wardrobe. You need more work outfits, and I wouldn’t mind seeing you in some more sexy lingerie.”
“No,” I exclaim firmly. I even wag my finger. “No, no, no.”
“Why not?” His question is calm in the face of my displeasure.
“Because,” I sputter, completely aghast he doesn’t get why I’d be against this. “I will not be a kept woman.”
Declan’s eyes go round. He blinks several times, clearly at a loss for words. Finally, he manages to ask on a bark of laughter. “A kept woman? Jesus… are you serious?”
“You’re rich,” I say the obvious, pointing across the desk. I throw my thumb back in my direction. “I’m not rich. We are at a vast disparity in income, but I am fully able to take care of myself. It’s… it’s… sexist for you to buy stuff for me.”