Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 103431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
“You good?” she asks, passing me the remote.
“Just fucking peachy, Princess.”
TWENTY-THREE
SCARLET
We make it almost a whole episode before the food arrives.
Well, he makes it, anyway, because I’m a freaking mess.
First, he all but demanded I cuddle with him, which alone was enough to short circuit my brain. But then, when I grabbed the remote and felt him grow hard... yeah, let’s just say I’ve been distracted.
Like so much so that I don’t notice the knock at the door. Not until Ellis nudges me and asks, “You gonna let me up or would you prefer your burger cold?”
“Yeah, no.” I scramble off the couch. “Sorry.”
“All good, Scar,” he says as he stands, throwing a cocky wink over his shoulder as he heads to the door. “Couch or bar?”
“Bar.” I practically shout the word, desperate to put some much needed space between us.
Being around him feels like being on a tilt-a-whirl. He’s intoxicating, infuriating, confusing, and so fucking tempting I could scream.
The line drawn between us used to be razor sharp, but now it may as well be drawn in shifting sand. It feels as if we’re on a precipice, and one strong wind could either send us spiraling apart or crashing into each other, and the thought of either outcome terrifies me.
“Works for me. Want to grab us drinks?”
I nod and head for the fridge, sticking my head inside to cool my heated cheeks before grabbing two bottles of water. It doesn’t escape my notice we prefer the same brand.
“I was thinking,” I say as I slide onto the stool beside him. “I’ll try yours if you try mine.”
His sinful lips curl into the most devilish of smirks. “Is that the food equivalent of I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours?”
“Oh my god, Ellis!”
“Yeah, that’s usually what comes next.”
I press my palms into my now-flaming cheeks. “You are... wow.”
“Princess, if you’re already this much in awe, just imagine—”
I jam my fingers into my ears, toddler style. “La-la-la. I can’t hear you.”
He cracks up. “Relax, I’m just fucking with you. Here, eat.” He slides a white takeout box with a dancing fried egg on it my way.
“Thanks.” I flip the lid and groan in delight as soon as the scent meets my nostrils.
“You haven’t even eaten anything yet.”
“Nope, but I can see it and I can smell it and I know it’s going to be fucking amazing.”
He casts a dubious look at my selection. “Fine. I’ll try it.”
“I promise, you won’t regret it.” I grab a waffle fry and poke it into the egg on top of my fries, busting the yolk before dragging it into the sauce, which is a perfect blend of tangy, sweet, and spicy. I pop the fry into my mouth, and my eyes all but roll back into my head as the rich flavors burst across my tongue. “So good, but why don’t you start with the burger? Baby steps, and what not.”
He picks up my burger, takes a deep breath, and then takes the daintiest bite known to mankind. I don’t hesitate to call him on it, either. “Oh my god, did you even get anything other than bun? James could bite off more than that.”
“Excuse the fuck out of me for trying to be neat.” He goes in for another bite, and much to my delight, both yolk and mayo drip down his chin. “Oh, fuck, that’s good.”
“Told you,” I say, smug as all get out. “Now try this.” I hold a yolky fry up to his mouth for him to try.
His lips brush my fingers as he accepts my offering, causing us both to groan. Him for the food, and me for him. Fucking hell.
“Told you it was good,” I mumble, as he dabs at his chin with a napkin.
“Never been happier to be wrong.” He lifts his brows and tips his head ever so slightly my way. “But it will be a cold day in hell before I try your pizza order.”
“We’ll see,” I say, pleased when my voice comes out light and teasing, giving away nothing of the mess of emotions swarming inside of me.
I don’t even know if mess is a strong enough word, because before he wiped his chin, a small part of me was tempted to lean over and lick it off. Which would’ve been utterly unhinged and probably would’ve landed me back at my house, broken down door or not. Yay for self-control, I suppose.
But not acting on it isn’t enough to erase the idea of it. I still thought it. I still wanted to do it, and I’m really not sure what that says about me.
Ellis says friends can cuddle, and while I may not know all that much about having friends, I know that feels like a load of shit. But pretending he’s right—and that friends do, in fact, cuddle—what else do friends do?