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)
After grabbing drinks, the five of us settle in at the table, and—just like Mabel did on the podcast—Sabrina dives right into the topic du jour.
“Is Sexy Reno Guy making you rethink your stance on dating?”
“You already listened?” I ask. “I literally just posted it.”
“I listened too. On the way over,” Leighton chimes in. “And that’s saying something, because I hardly listen to anything when I walk around the city.”
“We’re just that charming,” Mabel says, smirking.
“So, is he?” Sabrina presses, her eyes full of mischief. “Because you’ve been a little reluctant to get involved with anyone.”
“Or a lot,” Leighton corrects, because my friends know the truth.
I took a year off from dating after Landon took off. It was just too hard to put myself out there again. I tried online dating a few months ago, but it was a bust. All those questions I like to ask to root out red flags left me with…nothing.
And now I have this nebulous sort of fake date coming up with a new guy.
I blow out a breath, trying to make sense of what Ford is.
A client.
A neighbor.
And yet…he’s also a type of date.
“He’s making me think about a lot of things,” I say diplomatically.
Sabrina wiggles her well-groomed brows. “I hope some of those thoughts involve getting naked with him. Because it’s been a while for you, Sky.”
“Shut up,” I say, but I’d be lying if I claimed she was wrong.
I’d be lying, too, if I said I was thinking about slap shots and breakaways when I watch his hockey game the next night with Simon snoozing on my lap. How could I? The Sports Network shows the warmups, and I can’t look away as Ford stretches on the ice.
He’s kneeling, hands braced on the surface, shifting his pelvis up and down.
Up and down.
Up and freaking down.
I nudge Simon. “Look,” I whisper. “He’s…” My mouth goes dry. “It’s like he’s humping the ice.”
Simon lifts his snout, side-eyes the TV, then gives a subtle nod—confirming what I’m seeing—before flopping his head back onto my lap.
“He looks like a frog,” I say, then amend that to, “a very sexy frog.”
And because that’s a thought I definitely shouldn’t keep to myself, I text Ford as soon as the game ends.
Skylar: Saw the warmups. You give new meaning to the term ‘sexy frog.’
A few minutes later, a reply lands. He must be in the locker room now.
Ford: What did it mean before?
Skylar: It wasn’t a thing before. You’re breaking new ground. And tomorrow, let’s hope we don’t break furniture.
Ford: That sounds vaguely dirty.
Oh. He’s right. It does. Maybe that’s not the worst thing in the world.
16
DID YOU KNOW?
FORD
It was a rough game last night, but I drag myself out of bed, let Zamboni into the yard, wait for her to finish, then step into the shower. It’s early, especially for me, but the water wakes me. Once dressed in jeans and a polo, I grab my phone off the nightstand.
One missed call and a voicemail from Mom. Then a text.
Mom: Did you know the Golden Gate Bridge was completed ahead of schedule? Construction began during the Great Depression and finished in 1937. It was also under budget.
I suspect this tidbit relates to the renovation—a not-so-subtle reminder of her expectations. When she couldn’t reach me by phone, she resorted to a text message. The Sausalito house is on track for both deadline and budget, but right now I need to get over there and FaceTime with Mom to show her everything.
She’ll be apoplectic if I miss our planned video call.
Skylar also texted this morning to say the delivery would arrive thirty minutes early. I barely have time to whip up a kale smoothie and pour it into my new to-go cup. A glance at the picture and caption makes my lips twitch up.
With a final goodbye to Zamboni, I head outside, half-wishing there wasn’t this fizzy feeling in my chest when I glance at the townhouse next to mine.
A couple weeks ago, I thought my neighbor was a royal pain in the ass. Now I’ve come to enjoy the random morning sightings.
This morning is planned, however, and I’ve been counting the days, then the hours.
It’s getting to be a problem.
A dangerously sexy problem.
Skylar’s waiting by my car, a large canvas bag at her feet filled with what appears to be blankets. She looks effortless and edible in a pair of high-waisted jeans and a white top that reveals a sliver of flesh where it ends. My brain short-circuits for a second. How would her skin taste if I kissed just above her belly button? Or higher still, between her breasts?
Get it together, man. She’s your designer, and you’re about to spend the day setting up your parents’ house with her.
I take a fortifying gulp of my kale smoothie to kill the thought and manage a rough-voiced, “Morning.”