Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
“Noted.” Sir. “I’ll try to keep my approval rating up.”
We share a few more words before I turn toward the steps and make the climb back up to Lucy’s apartment, find her still in the kitchen waiting for my return.
“What was the holdup?” she teases. “Was there an animal rooting around in one of the cans down there?”
What? Animals root around down there, and she didn’t give me advance notice?
“No. I met your dad by the trash cans.”
Lucy blinks at me over her coffee mug. “The trash cans?”
I drop into the chair across from her. “Yup. Real bonding moment. Nothing says boyfriend material like taking out the garbage half dressed.”
She bites her lip, trying not to laugh. “And? What’s the verdict?”
I rub the stubble along my jaw. “The verdict is—I think he likes me. Or at the very least, doesn’t actively want to murder me for sleeping with you.”
Lucy raises a skeptical eyebrow. “That’s a good thing.”
“I’ll take what I can get.” I gesture toward the back door. “He basically said I seem all right but reserves the right to change his mind at any time.”
“Love that for him.”
Wow. She is seriously something else . . .
Cutthroat.
“According to your dad, you’re the real threat. If I screw up, you’ll handle me—not him.”
She laughs. “That sounds accurate.”
“And he told me to put on a shirt.” I let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Basically I’m on thin ice forever.”
Lucy winks. “Welcome to dating me.”
“At least he didn’t give me any rules to follow.”
Lucy taps her chin, pretending to think. “Hmm. Rules might be a little formal—but I do love the idea of a penalty system.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Penalty system?”
“Yeah,” she says casually. “Like, if you put on a shirt again, you owe me a back rub. And if you ever try to mansplain football to me, you owe me dessert.” Mansplain? I would never. “If you say something cocky, you have to . . .”
“Go down on you? Deal. Where do I sign?”
Lucy chokes on her coffee, coughing as she sets the mug down. “Wow. You agreed to that a little too quickly.”
I grin, completely unapologetic. “Trying to be a team player.”
She wipes a stray drop of coffee from her lip, eyes twinkling with amusement. “You do realize penalties are meant to discourage certain behaviors, right?”
I shrug. “Sounds more like positive reinforcement to me.”
Who wouldn’t want to go down on her? Her pussy is sublime.
Speaking of which . . .
I push back my chair and stand, then round the table before she has a chance to react.
“What are you—” she starts, but I don’t let her finish.
I scoop her up effortlessly, one arm under her knees, the other around her back. She lets out a squeal of surprise, smacking my chest.
“You cannot pick me up whenever you want.”
“Pretty sure I can,” I say, grinning down at her. “It’s part of the penalty system. Immediate consequences.”
She laughs, looping her arms around my neck. “Oh, so now you get to decide punishments?”
“Absolutely,” I murmur, shifting her weight easily as I carry her toward the nearest surface. “You make the rules. I’m the enforcement plan.”
Lucy narrows her eyes playfully. “And what exactly is my penalty now?”
I smirk, lowering my voice. “You’re about to find out.”
She doesn’t protest—doesn’t tell me to put her down. Instead, the little minx tilts her head, lips curving into a challenge.
I accept.
Chapter 19
Lucy
To say things with Harris are amazing would be an understatement.
Blissful.
Exciting.
Fun.
Much better description.
I tuck the phone between my ear and shoulder as I stir the simmering pasta sauce on the stove. The air is thick with the scent of garlic and tomatoes, warm and homey, but my mind is miles away—specifically, the times I’ve spent in bed with Harris Bennett and when everything felt less complicated.
Annabelle’s voice crackles through the speaker. “You sound suspiciously happy. Like, glowing-skin, smiling-to-yourself, post-good-sex happy.”
I grab a handful of cherry tomatoes and slice them in half with a little too much force. “No comment.”
“Lucy,” she says, voice sharp with accusation. “That’s basically a comment.”
I sigh, tossing the tomatoes into the pan. They sizzle instantly. So satisfying . . .
I nudge the fridge door shut with my hip, then snatch a handful of fresh basil from the counter. “Look, all I’m saying . . .” I trail off, stirring the sauce again, letting the words linger.
Annabelle makes a knowing noise. “When are you going to admit out loud that you’re developing feelings for him?”
I freeze, wooden spoon hovering midair. “I have feelings about a lot of things. Sunshine. Good coffee. Pasta.”
“Harris.”
“Yes, him too.”
The second the words leave my mouth, my stomach plummets.
My eyes widen. My hand slaps over my mouth. “Did I admit that out loud?”
“Yes!” Annabelle screams. “Holy shit! You said it out loud!”
I frown. “I am not catching feelings.”
She sighs. “You’re already in the feelings, Lucy. You’re marinating in them. You’re like the saucy sauce on your stove right now. Simmering goodness.” She pauses. “I am so fucking jealous of you right now.”