Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 84952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Honestly? It hasn’t been that hard.
I’m down to fuck. One-night stands are fine. Great, actually. I’m game for a friends-with-benefits situation too. But none of those circumstances involve kissing.
Sex is different. It’s an exchange. Kissing, though, is a connection. You can fuck someone and not have to face them. You do what you want to the other person’s body, but it has nothing to do with them as a person. Intercourse is a pleasure transaction. Kissing is a communication, an intentional decision to face someone and form a personal connection.
Fuck. That.
Yet I kissed her last night. Even worse, I want to kiss her again against my better judgment.
She squirms her hand free and lays it flat on the lapel of my jacket. Her breathing gets quicker.
“Would you rather I demonstrate?” I ask.
She tries to hide her smile. “Does that mean you’re thinking about kissing me again?”
“This isn’t about me,” I tell her, lowering my face toward hers. “This is about what suits you right now.”
She forces a swallow. Notes of amber in her perfume float through the air as her body undoubtedly heats.
I’m playing with fire here. And I just can’t stop myself.
“This is a public place, Hollis,” she says as if that would stop me.
“Does that mean whatever you’re thinking about is not PG-13?”
She flushes the prettiest shade of pink as she fingers the edge of my jacket. “I’m just thinking that I need to be the object of your affection while we’re here. Can you do that?”
I nod. “I can do that.”
She pats my chest, and I take a step back. She looks simultaneously relieved and disappointed at my movement. The thought that she liked me that close to her sends a surge of testosterone through me.
“Okay,” she says, clearing her throat. “Let’s go see Mom and Jack.”
“Let’s do it.”
She turns to walk away, and I instinctively want to grab her hand. I stop myself, but then I realize that if I was her man, I’d sure as hell be holding onto hers right now.
Play the part, Hollis.
I reach out and take her palm in mine. Our fingers lace together.
She looks at me over her shoulder and then down at our interlocked hands.
“What?” I ask. “You wanted to be the object of my affection.”
“Fair enough.”
She looks away but not before I see her satisfied little smile.
We wind through the faux forest, pausing every now and then when someone says hello to Larissa. She introduces me to each person as her boyfriend. Much to my surprise, the sound of that doesn’t make me cringe.
She chats easily with each person, asks questions about their business or child and even someone’s cat. Her attention to detail is awe-inspiring. Judging by their contented expressions, each person walks away feeling like the most important person in the room.
How the hell does she do that?
I spot her mother before we even get close. She has Larissa’s blond hair and curvy figure. She also wears a version of Larissa’s smile. It’s not as warm or quite as kind, and I can’t really imagine her throwing her head back and laughing like her daughter either. But the resemblance is close enough to pick her out of a room.
“Hi, Mom,” Larissa says as we approach them. “Hi, Jack.”
They smile as they see us coming.
Jack holds a glass tumbler of dark liquid, and Trista clutches a glass of pink-colored wine. They both do a quick assessment of me. I’m not sure what Jack thinks, but I can tell I pass Trista’s inspection.
Trista tears her eyes off me long enough to say hello to her daughter.
“Hi, Riss,” she coos, pulling my date into a hug that requires me to let go of her.
“Hey, Mom.”
As soon as she releases her mother, I take her hand again. I don’t think she minds.
“Glad you could make it, Larissa,” Jack says, smiling kindly. “And who is this strapping young fellow that you have with you?”
“Mom, Jack, this is Hollis,” she says.
I extend my free hand to Jack. “I’m Hollis Hudson. It’s nice to meet you, sir.”
He seems to appreciate the respect. His handshake is firm. “We’re glad you could join us.”
Trista’s wineglass sways in her hand as she takes a closer look at me. “Where did you meet Riss?”
“At Paddy’s,” Larissa says before I have a chance to answer. “We both reached for a chair at the same time.”
Jack taps on the side of his glass, drawing our attention his way.
“Your name is familiar to me,” he says, looking at me. “Are you from around here?”
“No, sir,” I say. “I’m from Indiana, but I do go to college at Braxton. It’s not that far from here.”
His eyes narrow. “You play football, don’t you?”
I grin. I love it when this happens. In the right audience and in the right year—which this is generally not—it’s pretty cool to be me. I hope, for Larissa’s sake, this is that audience.