Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25127 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 126(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25127 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 126(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
I stop in the kitchen entry, taking in the obviously new, stainless-steel appliances, a swirled mix of gray, white, and black granite countertops, and a weathered wood tile on the floor in a steel gray. It’s masculine and very much like the man I remember meeting last night.
Speaking of my host, he stands in front of the sink, looking out a window. With no shirt, a pair of black track pants ride low on his hips. Defined muscles are visible in his upper back, tapering down to a lean waist. From behind, he’s an extremely hot man, and I swallow hard, and wrong, and begin to cough and choke on my own saliva.
He turns at the sound, his gaze landing on me. I blink, and tears drip down my face as I struggle to catch my breath while taking in the hotness before me. No drunken goggles for me. The man is the perfect male specimen, his dark hair tousled from sleep, his brown eyes warm, and his tanned body a picture of muscled goodness with a tattoo on one shoulder.
His eyes soften in concern. “You okay?”
I nod and swipe at the wetness on my cheeks. “Swallowed wrong.”
Once I stop coughing, his gaze drifts from my face, traveling down my body. I might not have a ton of experience, but his eyes definitely heat, and I glance down to find my nipples poking through my thin cotton tee. His T-shirt. Embarrassed, I fold my arms across my chest, and he immediately turns away.
He takes a few steps to the fridge, pulls out a carton, grabs a glass from a cabinet and pours orange juice into the cup. “Here.”
Grateful, I accept the drink and take a long sip, keeping my body angled away from him. I drink, waiting to be sure I won’t choke again before answering. “Thank you. And thanks for…bringing me back here, leaving me water and something for my head. Just…everything.”
“Wasn’t like you gave me a choice,” he says in a wry tone, and my cheeks heat with more embarrassment.
I hadn’t given him my parents’ address, but I can’t say I’m sorry. “Well, I appreciate it.”
He studies me intently, as if trying to figure me out. I’m aware of him now firmly keeping his eyes on my face, and I relax. If he finds me attractive, I definitely return the sentiment but I’d rather have more coverage while talking to him.
“Hungry?” he asks. “I have bagels.” He gestures to the counter where a bag of varied flavors sits. “Butter and cream cheese are in the fridge.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
I walk past him and set about choosing my bagel, a cinnamon raisin, and taking a tub of cream cheese from the refrigerator. “Want one?”
“I already ate.”
I shrug. Making myself at home isn’t easy, but I do my best, toasting and making my bagel, pouring a cup of coffee from the pot that he already made, and sitting down at the small kitchen table with him leaning against the counter, watching me the entire time. He is respectful, keeping his gaze off my chest, but I notice him taking in my tanned legs, and I think I hear a hum of approval before he clears his throat and glances out the window.
“So your house is being renovated?” I ask as I take a bite of my bagel.
He cocks an eyebrow at my interest. “Yeah.”
“I like it here. It’s cozy. I mean, except for the lack of pictures and…feminine touches.” Yes, I’m hinting for an answer as to whether he has a girlfriend.
He frowns in confusion. “Why the hell would I have feminine touches?”
I shrug. “Your girlfriend likes the sparse décor?” Yes, I’m curious and digging for information. He might be a touch grumpy, but I can’t deny the hotness factor. Nobody in my world looks like him.
“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
I grin. “Interesting.” And good to know.
He exhales an exasperated breath and runs a hand through his sexy, somewhat long hair. “Look, can you just finish up so I can take you to the bar to get your car and you can go home?”
I’m obviously irritating him, but for some reason, I like getting under his skin. He might not want me here but from the way he looks at me, he’s not immune.
“I’m not going home. Not while my parents are giving the asshole access to the house and by default, to me.”
His sigh tells me he understands, but his next words are, “Well you can’t stay here,” he says gruffly.
I slowly put the bagel onto the plate, considering my options. All the hotels, motels, and rentals will be booked for the summer. My friends’ parents won’t take me in out of loyalty to my mother and father, who will never believe me if I tell them what Preston did. People in our circle close ranks. I know I’ll find myself on the outside, with our friends helping my parents to push me to return home.