Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
“He’s also open to talking about a future.”
“Right, but we don’t know if he’s in it for love, or just doing this for the inheritance.”
Her blunt summation left Wren startled. “Do you think that’s it?”
Jocelyn shrugged. “I think it’s a part of this. I mean, would he have come at you so aggressively if there wasn’t a time crunch with his dad’s health?”
“No.”
“So, it’s definitely a factor. In book world, we call that the catalyst. But there are always unforeseen twists. And, hey, there are plenty of arranged, contractual marriages that end in orgasms and love.”
Wren tried to envision a future with Soren, but the vision was blurry. Familiar settings but no one had a head. All the males in her fantasy were faceless and unidentifiable. “My future’s headless.”
“Stop. What about Greyson?” Jocelyn did that slow, wicked smile that was usually followed by a phone call requesting bail money. “Now, Greyson is a man who needs massive emotional exfoliating. He’s been compressing his feelings for so long, I think he’s man-stipated.”
“Man-stipated?”
“Yeah, you know... Emotionally constipated, repressed, his heart’s too small, like he has Grinch syndrome. He’s a Great Wall of Guy. Emotionally Amish and suffering from the feelings famine. He’s in a tear duct drought—“
“Okay, okay. I get it.” If you didn’t stop Jocelyn once she started, you ended up with a bit of a runaway train scenario.
“But you get it?”
Boy, did she ever. “Yes, I’m well aware that Greyson buried his feelings the day we buried our moms.”
The appropriate silence followed at the mention of her mother. Life would have been so much easier with her here. There were times Wren could have really used some wise, feminine guidance. Of course, she had her dad and Aunt Astrid and all of her friends, but nothing ever replaced a mom.
Wren had a terrible thought. “What if he just... can’t?”
“Can’t what, perform? What were you dry humping the other day? I assumed he was at least hard.”
“No, I mean, what if it’s just not in him to open up?”
“Look, I’ve written thirty-five books, and conquered my fair share of emotionally repressed lumberjacks. That man needs to be climbed like a snowy mountain. He’s one of those guys where you gotta break ‘em down casually. Show ‘em a boob or two. Get them hooked on the hookup. And then—slowly—dissolve his other barriers.”
“He won’t let that happen. Every time he touches me he tells me it can’t happen again.”
“He’s like a masochist. I think he gets off on denying himself.”
“Or, he’s just not that into me.”
“Don’t make me slap you. First of all—“ She went back to ticking off fingers. “All the Hawthornes are secretly in love with you. Everyone knows it and so does Greyson, which is why he’s always told them you’re off limits. I’ll die on that mountain, and if you deny it, you’re as much of a liar as he is. Second—“ Another finger went up. “Greyson goes nuts whenever anyone shows any interest in you. He’s the worst of all of them. And C, he’s prime male lead material—strong, independent, silent, pensive... Gah! They’re the best ones.”
Wren laughed despite herself. “You think?”
“Absolutely! If I were to write him into one of my Viking novels, I’d name him something like Gunner the Broody. He exudes moody recluse vibes. Very hot. Women eat that shit up.”
They shared a moment of silence to sit back and sip their peanut butter cocktails, picturing Greyson’s handsome body under all that emotional intensity. Wren smiled, recalling how entranced she had been by the sight of him without his shirt, all muscle and scars and masculine beauty. She was so much calmer than she’d been minutes ago and realized why.
“Good call on the whisky.”
“Right?” Jocelyn turned the bottle to admire the label. “Speaking of protein, are you gonna blow him?”
Wren choked as a sip went down the wrong pipe. Gasping and sputtering, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “There’s something wrong with you.”
Jocelyn laughed. “One hundred percent. But can you imagine him staring down at you with that predatory smolder? Girl, you need to get him inside of you one way or another.”
“It’s not like I live a celibate life by choice.”
“There’s always a choice, Wren. You could have had a road-banger take your cherry years ago. I think part of you always wanted to save it for…a special Hawthorne.”
She shot her an unimpressed look. They both knew there was only one Hawthorne she ever fantasized about that way. “What the hell’s a road-banger?”
“You know, a rando, someone who gets the job done but never learns where you live.”
“Gross. I still have standards, Joce.”
She didn’t need her first time to be with The One but she also didn’t want it to be with a meaningless stranger. Truthfully, Greyson was always supposed to be her first. He’s the only one she ever pictured. When that didn’t happen, she figured he just needed more time. So she pushed herself a little longer, then a little longer, then... a little longer.