Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
The door shuts with an ominous thunk and it’s just her, me, and my unchecked longing for the rest of the night.
“Want dessert?” Remy asks.
You.
“Got some in your pockets?” I tease, trying desperately to make light of the situation.
“No,” she says, laughing as she gestures to her bags. “I have the Valentine’s candy.”
Oh, right. “Sure,” I say.
“And the licorice for you.”
She fucking bought me licorice.
“Let’s do it, then I definitely need to shower,” I say, gesturing to my gym clothes.
“You look cute in sweaty gym clothes,” she says. And that is not helping. And she must know it since she mutters, “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I do look hot,” I say, owning it.
“Well, yeah.”
But that won’t help either, the admission that she’s still attracted to me, and I am to her, and we’re not doing a thing about it.
Because it’s complicated, you ass.
I really need to get away from her, but I’m a glutton for Remy, so I settle in on the floor and she sits on the couch, and we crack open the Valentine’s candy. As I pop in a bite me, Remy asks if I want to watch a show.
“Sure,” I say, since it’ll pass more time.
We agree on Top-Notch Boyfriend, a series based on a book from a writer named TJ Hardman. It’s about an American guy who meets an Englishman and falls fast and hard for him but circumstances pull them apart, and it’s a little addictive.
So addictive, we plow through two episodes and a box full of kiss me, hug me, and touch me.
Soon enough, she’s yawning and has clearly come down from the sugar high. “I should go to bed.”
“And I should finally shower,” I say, grateful we’ve survived. Well, almost. There’s still that matter of the one bed.
“Lake,” she says, standing and stretching. “You don’t need to sleep on the couch.”
“Thanks. I don’t think I’d fit.”
She pauses, swallows, then lifts her chin, like she needs to stay on point. “We can share the bed. Right?”
The right is doing a lot of work there. The subtext is clear—we can share it and it won’t end the way the nap lesson did.
“Right,” I say.
After she brushes her teeth, she emerges from the bathroom. She’s wearing sleep pants and a T-shirt that do nothing to help me escape all my desire for this woman.
But she’s also sporting a pair of red glasses that make my heart kick, and I don’t even know why. “You wear glasses,” I say, the words thick in my mouth.
“Only when I remember to take my contacts out. And they were bugging me, so I took them out.”
My desire is bugging me. Wish I could remove it just as easily.
32
SO HARD TO SEE
REMY
I’m stuck outside in a storm. The wind whips around me. The clouds are angry. The rain pelts me everywhere.
I’ve just got to get inside, and I trudge to the door on heavy feet that barely move, trying to yank it open, when my eyes blink open.
Oh. I was just dreaming. It’s raining outside though, and wow, is it loud.
All I want is to go back to sleep but my eyes feel sticky from my mascara, a reminder that I forgot to wash my face. I drag myself out of bed, squinting in the dark. I stumble toward the bathroom door, which looks fuzzy without my glasses, but I can tell it’s ajar. A yawn takes over me, as I push on the door the rest of the way open. It’s so bright in here and so loud. What kind of monster would leave all the lights on in the bathroom?
In a flash, the rain stops. I yawn again, but something scratches at my brain as I fumble for the light to dim it.
It’s. Not. Raining.
Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.
I don’t listen to the voice in my head. I turn to the shower, and I look right at the gorgeous hockey player as he slides open the steamy glass door and steps out.
Without glasses or contacts I can’t see objects that are far away, but I can see well enough up close, and right now the object is a very close, very wet, and very naked hockey player as he reaches for a towel from a nearby hook.
I make a sound. Something like a whimper.
I’ve seen him naked-ish. I’ve had his cock halfway down my throat, but I’ve never experienced the man in all his naked glory. And even with my flawed vision, the man is still glorious. Muscles for days, dark hair on his chest, and that impressive cock, half hard, with a drop of water sliding down it.
My mouth waters, and I should go. I really should go. “I…”
But have I ever spoken before? Do I even know how to make words? How to move my feet? They’re currently glued to the tile.