Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Like you.
But I keep that thought to myself.
“That seems to sum him up perfectly,” I say.
Skylar tips her head toward Zamboni. “And your perfect princess?”
I glance down at my loyal companion, sighing heavily as she settles deeper onto the soft grass by my feet. “She’s a rescue too. Which might be obvious based on the fact that she’s a weird mix. But I like it. Especially since she’s all mine.”
Skylar gives me a curious look. “What do you mean? All yours? Who else’s…oh, did you share her with an ex?”
“Thank fuck I didn’t.” Just the thought sends a surge of anger through me. I do my best to douse it. “I adopted her a couple of years ago, as I was getting divorced.” That word used to rankle. A reminder of my failure at marriage. Fine, Brittany was the one who left, but I still failed. But now, with some distance, I can see we were never going to last. Still sucks, though, that I once thought she was my forever. “Zamboni’s been my main girl since then.”
“My ex didn’t appreciate Simon,” Skylar says.
“I doubt mine would have appreciated Zamboni.” I pause, unsure if I want to go there. But she’s shared, so I say, “It ended for reasons…similar to yours.”
She gives a small, sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s for the best,” I say.
“It is,” she adds. It’s a strange new bond between Skylar and me, but it’s there. Real and true.
And there is her dog, licking her cheek. Once again, I find myself jealous…of a dog.
He licks her chin again. And again. And with each successive lick, I stare more closely.
Is her chin getting a little…bluer?
“Skylar. Are you okay?”
“Why?” she asks, a frown digging into her forehead.
I study her face, trying to catch enough slivers of moonlight to see. “What happened to your chin?”
Her free hand flies to cover it up. “Nothing!”
Oh, it’s something all right, especially since she quickly adds, “I put on concealer. Foundation.”
I lift a brow. “I think Simon just licked it off.”
She winces, looking down before meeting my gaze with a touch of guilt. “He loves my makeup. And he loves lotion. And he loves licking me.”
There’s so much in that sentence I could respond to, but I start with, “How did you bruise your chin?”
For a long beat, a silent debate rages behind those eyes. “This morning,” she admits. “I might have fallen in the catio. Go ahead and laugh.”
But I don’t laugh. I beckon her closer, saying softly, “C’mere.”
I wait. I’m patient, and I hope she hears the sincerity in my tone.
She steps closer—tentatively, maybe, but still she does it. I reach out and run the pad of my thumb across her bruise.
Her breath seems to catch. The sound of it is a jolt of electricity down my spine.
“Does it hurt?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No. Does it look terrible?”
I shake my head, but I don’t stop touching her. I can’t seem to. Stroking her chin will do nothing to get rid of the bruise. But she feels so damn good, and her eyes are soft, and her lips are parted, and she smells like summertime.
“No, it doesn’t look terrible at all. I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” I say as a breeze rustles the branches of the tree next to her.
She swallows roughly, and my chest aches with the potent desire to run my hand down her throat, over her chest. I’d thread my other hand into her hair and pull her close. Then I’d kiss her chin, her cheek, her pink lips I can’t stop looking at.
But I can’t.
I let go of her.
“I’m okay. I actually feel a lot better now,” she says, her gaze drifting down to my hand before she regards me like she wants to say something.
Nighttime surrounds us, the city lights glowing in the distance, the rattle of cars and buses drifting by.
She meets my gaze, and with a fresh new vulnerability, she says quietly, “I saw you doing yoga this morning.”
It sounds like a confession, and I’m not sure why she would make it, so I lift a brow curiously and, like I’m piecing together details. “You mean when you were in the catio and I asked if you were okay?”
She gulps. “Well, yeah. And before.”
“Oh.”
For once, I’m at a loss for words. I don’t know how to make sense of her admission or this charged air between us. This buzzy feeling in my body.
This crackling in my cells.
Instead, I give in once more. I slide my thumb along her jaw, then hold her face in my hand for a long beat. “Just make sure you don’t fall again,” I say, my voice low and smoky, “especially because we have a poisoning to plot.”
She smiles, but it’s subtle. A little sexy. And when she nibbles on the corner of her lips, my chest tightens.