Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
He rolls me onto my back, peering down at me, and for a split second, I think he's going to say something serious and scary. I brace myself.
Instead, he just brushes his fingers down my jaw, slow and reverent, and kisses me on the cheek.
"Good girl," he whispers, and I almost combust.
I have no idea what to do next. "Do you regret it?" I blurt without meaning to do it. My voice is barely audible, but he hears me. Of course he does.
He blinks, surprised. Then snorts, shaking his head. "Hell no. I regret not doing it sooner." His lips quirk into that crooked smile I love so much. "Do you?"
"No." The word comes out before I can think to filter it. "I mean…it's just…I don't want it to be…weird."
His brow furrows. "Weird how?"
I can't meet his gaze. "We're friends, Noah. At least, I thought we were friends. I don't want to mess that up."
He laughs, a deliciously low rumble that's full of warmth and affection. "Friends, huh?"
I fumble for a scrap of dignity. "Yeah, friends."
He stares at me for a long time, the space between us pulsing and electric. And then he grins, the curve of his lips slow and wicked. "Fuck that noise."
Before I can register what's happening, he dips his head and kisses me—hard, thorough, a little bit smug, too. I gasp into his mouth, and he takes that as an invitation, deepening the kiss until I'm dizzy all over again.
When he finally pulls away, I'm breathless and a little shell-shocked. He brushes my hair back from my face, searching my face.
"Elsie." His voice is rough, gravelly, almost irritated, except there's a smile playing around his wicked mouth. "I need you to hear me right now, okay?"
I nod, speechless.
"We're not friends." He says it with a finality that both scares and thrills me. "I don't want to be your friend. Not after last night. Not after any of this." He gestures to the sofa, to us, to my skirt bunched around my waist, and his shirt riding up his abs.
I think my heart stops.
"We're—what are we?" I stutter, terrified that if I say too much, I'll break the spell and he'll tell me that he's just kidding.
He grins, the crooked, lazy one that makes my knees weak. "We're whatever you want us to be. But we aren't going back to just friends."
I want to argue, just to see that look on his face again, but the alarm on my phone starts screaming from somewhere under the sofa cushions, and I realize I'm going to be late for work again.
"Shit!" I scramble, practically falling off the couch onto the floor.
He catches me at the last second, saving me from my own clumsiness. "Careful, baby," he murmurs, and then helps me stand before fishing in the cushions for my phone. He silences the alarm before handing it over to me.
When I take it, he doesn't immediately let it go. Instead, his hand engulfs mine, his eyes locked on my face.
"Stop thinking so much," he orders, as if it's that simple. If he had any idea what he does to my brain, though, I doubt he'd feel say it like that…so bossy.
"I need to get ready for work before I'm late," I say softly.
He grimaces, hauling himself to his feet. I get a glimpse of his abs before his shirt falls back into place. "You know I'm sorry about yesterday morning, right? Any kid who passes through your doors is lucky to have you."
"I know," I whisper. "It's okay."
He steps in front of me, tilting his head down. His eyes meet mine like he's looking for something. I'm not sure what he finds—probably pure neuroticism at this point because ya girl is spiraling—but he just shakes his head, his lips quirking into another lazy grin.
"It's not okay yet, but it will be, baby." His lips brush my forehead before he steps back, sauntering toward the front door. He glances at me over his shoulder once, his eyes soft. "See you after work."
I just nod, unable to form words as he slips out, leaving me alone with my loud-as-hell thoughts and all the questions I didn't have time to ask.
Sometimes, being an adult with an adult job and adult responsibilities is, literally, the lamest thing on the face of the earth.
It's after ten when a sharp rap rattles my front door on the hinges. Even though I expected it, I jump anyway, my heart slamming against my ribcage.
"Crap," I whisper, jolting to my feet. My hands rise toward my hair, trying to tame my wild curls into some semblance of order. It's a losing battle, though. Unless there's a straightener involved, my hair does what it wants.
Apparently, so does my heart because it's racing like this is the freaking Derby, and it's trying to win the race.