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)
Harris watches me struggle for a beat, then holds out his hand. “Please tag me in, Coach. I’ll behave.”
I hesitate. Behave? He’s not capable.
He wiggles his fingers. Gimme. “I promise to be professional. No funny business.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re incapable of no funny business.”
He grins. “Valid point. But also—itchy emergencies call for teamwork.”
I hand him the bottle with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. You may apply lotion—but only because I can’t reach.”
He stands next to the bed, turning me so he has access to my entire back, then twists the cap off the pink bottle with an exaggerated motion. Gently runs his cool palms over my back. “Sorry this is cold.”
“It’s fine.” It feels amazing. I nearly melt because it’s already soothing my skin. “Marry me.”
“So easy to win you over.” He nuzzles my ear. “Ask me again twelve months from now.”
I roll my eyes. “Never will I ever propose to a man.”
Harris laughs, the sound warming my tummy from the inside out. I rest my chin on my arms as he smooths lotion along my spine. His touch is gentle, almost reverent—and if I weren’t so miserably itchy, I may indeed be swooning.
When he finishes smoothing the last bit of lotion along my back, I expect him to let me flop forward in my misery—but instead, he hooks his arms around my waist and hauls me right into his lap.
I let out a surprised squeal, legs draped over his thighs. He tucks my head under his chin.
“I cannot wait,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “For Friday.”
Friday is Arizona. Friday is his city, his friends, his house.
I will have to cancel classes, tell my parents I’ll be out of town, find someone to open and close the studio . . .
I didn’t consider any of these things when I agreed to go. I inhale a breath, reminding myself not to panic.
I can do this.
But Harris feels the tension in my body and pulls back to tilt my chin up. “Hey.”
I meet his gaze, my stomach doing somersaults.
“It’s going to be fun.”
I nod. “What are we going to do?”
“I was thinking we could do an off-roading Jeep tour, and possibly go to the—”
“Oh my God, no. No Jeep tour.” I hold out my arms, which are chalky from all the calamine lotion. “Have we learned nothing about your ideas for adventure? You practically broke your ribs scaling my wall, now we’re covered in rashes because you wanted to hunt down a creature that doesn’t exist.”
He goes quiet, deflating like a sad balloon.
I nudge him gently. “I mean, you have a knack for chaos.”
He thinks several seconds. “What if we take a hot-air balloon ride?”
Uh. No. “Do you have any idea how many balloons crash?” The statistics are mind boggling! Seriously! Google it!
“Oh!” He perks up again. “Indoor skydiving! You wear a jumpsuit. There’s a giant wind tunnel, and they have instructors. What could possibly go wrong?”
I give him a warning look. “Harris.”
“Fine,” he says, dejected. “We’ll go swimming in my pool.” He sounds so deflated that I laugh. “Mini golf?”
I grin. “I don’t hate that.”
He puffs out a breath of relief. “And maybe after golf, we eat tacos the size of our faces?”
“Sold!” I shout to the ceiling because who doesn’t love tacos the size of their faces?
“Margaritas that come in buckets?”
I kiss his jawline. “You are redeeming yourself so, so quickly.”
“I wanted this trip to be amazing for you,” he murmurs.
I smile against his chest. “It will be because you’ll be with me.”
He kisses the top of my head, his breath warm against my scalp, lips lingering. “You’re kind of my favorite person, you know that?”
I look up at him, eyes sparkling. “Kind of?”
I can feel him grinning as he says, “Okay, definitely.”
My shoulder itches, but I resist the temptation to scratch it, content to be in his arms. I love that he’s holding me, this moment is so—
“What about riding a mechanical bull?” he interrupts.
I groan. “Stop.”
Epilogue
Lucy
I’ve been in Arizona for exactly forty-eight hours, and here are the important things I’ve learned:
The sun here is not messing around. It will burn you to a crisp faster than Harris can demolish a plate of nachos.
Harris’s house is . . . massive. Like, “I got lost looking for the bathroom” massive. Like, “I was half convinced there was a wing I wasn’t allowed in” massive.
His pool is where I now live.
Floating on a giant inflatable donut, I bob up and down on the clear blue water—sunglasses on, hat tilted over my face—while Harris splashes around beside me like an overgrown Labrador puppy.
“I bet you five bucks I can flip you over without using my hands,” he announces, wading closer, water dripping down his smooth, muscular chest.
I love that chest. Could stare at it all damn day, especially soaking wet.