Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
“That’s not very nice of them. Do you get along with your family?”
I heard my sister snort from somewhere behind me.
“Not really. They’re awful people. Ugly, too. And mean. Especially Ella.”
Will’s mouth opened in surprise, so I thumbed over my shoulder and mouthed, “Sibling spy.”
He glanced behind us and smirked. “Ah. I have three of those. You’re lucky you only have two.”
As I began to explain that my sister Mattie was getting married next month, I realized this was nice. Easy. Will was a good guy, just like Ella and Hazel had said. And we seemed to have plenty in common.
While he sat there telling me about his brother the commercial real estate agent, his sister the mechanic, and his sister the wedding planner, I even thought about how well he’d get along with the rest of my family.
At no point did I consider what he was like in bed…
At least, until he tried to kiss me after the game in the dark parking lot, and I jerked back.
“Oh,” he said, stepping away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
I reached for his hand. “No, it’s not your fault. I just… I’m… I’m sorry. Can we… take it a little slow?”
Ugh, how virginal did I sound right now? And it wasn’t even because I really wanted to take it slow. I just… didn’t want to fuck up what I had going with Kincaid.
Will’s expression was one of kindness and understanding, not judgment. “Of course we can. I’d really like to see you again, and I definitely don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Thanks.” I stepped forward and hugged him briefly, pulling back and shooting him a smile of appreciation.
“Text me tomorrow?” he asked, his smile turning flirty again.
“Definitely.”
I hopped in my car and headed home. Halfway home, my phone buzzed with a text, but I assumed it was either a thanks from Will or a nosy inquiry from Ella. Either way, there was no rush to check it. Which was why I ended up in the back lot of Timber before I realized Kincaid had been the one texting me.
Lord High Sheriff of Fire Safety
I’m home for the night if you need any coaching.
My stomach tightened with hot need. Fuck.
ETA ASAP
I took a few minutes to race upstairs and shower thoroughly, throwing on clean clothes that didn’t smell like hot dogs and popcorn.
During the drive to Kincaid’s place, all I could do was chastise myself for leading Will on. I was a selfish human being because if I had to choose between Will Wascomb and Judd Kincaid when deciding who to lose my virginity to…
There was seriously no fucking choice whatsoever. Even Jesus would choose Judd Kincaid. I was pretty sure, at least.
When I got to his house, I was already half-hard. I hadn’t spared a single thought about why the man had texted me for sex on a Friday night when he knew I was going out with someone else. Nor had I considered how desperate and rude it made me look that I was taking him up on it.
No. All of my thoughts had been more along the lines of holy shit. Oh, fuck yeah. And a lot of mental images of our local fire chief naked and hard. Which had essentially cut off all other thoughts for good.
The door was unlocked, so I let myself in and caught him pouring wine into two glasses at the kitchen counter.
“Serving wine to a vintner,” I teased. “Brave choice.”
Kincaid was wearing old jeans and a white long-sleeve T-shirt that said “South Philly Smoke Eaters” in red print on the back.
“Beartooth Market hardly has the biggest selection.”
I stepped forward and took the offered glass. “You know I can get whatever you need. It never occurred to me you liked wine.”
He held up the bottle of white. “Josh and I go way back.”
The wine was a Josh Cellars Sauvignon Blanc from a particularly great year. “You did good, actually. I’m impressed.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t used to be a wine drinker, but I evolved.”
The bottle was half-empty. I was curious about whether he’d opened it tonight and already downed half of it or kept it in his fridge for a glass every now and then.
“How was the game?” Kincaid asked, corking the bottle and leaning over to put it in the fridge. My eyes went straight to his ass in those jeans.
“We won. It wasn’t a trouncing, but it wasn’t a nail-biter either. Pretty sure it was Tavo’s first in-person game, and I think he’s a convert.” I grinned. “I saw him enjoying himself with his friends.”
Kincaid frowned. “Speaking of Tavo, I don’t suppose you’re ready to tell me—”
“Ah ah. We weren’t actually speaking of Tavo, and we won’t be speaking about him,” I said with finality. “We were talking about the game. Cord McMasters was crowned homecoming king. I’m sure you’ll hear about it at the station.”