Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
I only get to touch her when there’s someone around to watch us “faking it.” But at least my suffering has an expiration date since we’re headed somewhere with an audience.
At least, I’m assuming we are…
“So, where are we headed?” I ask as she pulls out of the lot, heading west.
“You’ll see.”
“I think it’s time to end the suspense, don’t you?” I ask, starting to sweat the “surprise” even more than I was before. “Gotta give a guy at least a few minutes to wrap his head around what comes next.”
She shoots me a sideways glance, her lips curving. “Do I? Who made that rule? More importantly, did I agree to it? Because I don’t remember agreeing.”
I sigh. “I admire your commitment to questioning the premise, but I’m seriously stressed, woman. If you don’t give me a hint, you’re going to give me gas.”
She laughs, clearly thinking I’m kidding.
I’m not, but rather than double down on my stress-induced irritable bowel tendencies, I turn to stare out the window, watching as the city gives way to sprawling oaks and open fields.
I can do this. Deep breaths in, deep breaths out, and remember, no matter what waits at the end of this drive, I can’t fly off the handle.
That wasn’t something I worried much about before, but recent events have proven I’m not as in control of myself as I would like to believe. Especially when it comes to assholes who think it’s okay to treat women like shit. I know that has a lot to do with my sister, and the asshole who’s currently making a fool out of her in all the music industry press, but knowing doesn’t seem to make it any easier to keep my punching hand in check.
“You’re really nervous, aren’t you?” Charlotte asks after a few minutes.
I shrug. “I’m not good with suspense.”
She hums thoughtfully. “But you play a sport where the entire outcome is suspense, right up until the final buzzer. Do you get nervous before you hit the ice?”
“No, not really,” I say, glancing her way. “I get amped up, but it’s not the same thing. It’s a good kind of nervous.”
She nods. “I get that. So why don’t you do that when it comes to other things?”
“Do what?”
“Convince yourself that you’re the good kind of nervous instead of the bad kind.”
I frown. “How would I do that?”
She shrugs. “You just do it. Just tell yourself that you’re not anxious, you’re excited. Works every time.”
“It does not.”
“It does,” she says, laughing. “Try it.”
I scrub a hand over my face. The late afternoon sun is turning her hair rose gold. I want to bury my fingers in those silky soft waves, pull her close, taste the salt on her neck, whisper filthy things into her ear about what I’m going to do to her when we get where we’re going.
Instead, I exhale a dubious-sounding sigh and pretend I’m capable of going more than five minutes without thinking about getting her naked. I’ve always had a healthy sex drive, but this is ridiculous.
What she does to me is ridiculous.
I couldn’t have picked a woman it’s harder to “fake it” with if I’d tried.
“So, I just…tell myself I’m excited?” I ask.
“Yep.”
“No,” I counter.
“Yes! Just do it. Out loud. I want to make sure you sound like you mean it.”
I roll my eyes, but when she prods again, I give in, “Fine. I’m not anxious, I’m excited.”
She pulls a face, sticking out her tongue. “Boo. Terrible. Try again. With feeling this time.”
“I’m not anxious, I’m excited!” I say, in a corny “upbeat” voice, any haunted doll from a horror movie would be proud of.
She side-eyes me. “Am I going to have to pull this car over?”
“Depends on what you’re going to do to me when you pull over,” I say. “If it’s a spanking, then I think, yes. A spanking might help me feel less nervous.”
Pink creeps into her cheeks as she adjusts her grip on the wheel. “I’m not sure what that says about you, Baylor.”
“It says you should just tell me where we’re going. And what we’re doing there, Charlotte.”
She bites her lip for a moment before shaking her head. “Not until you say you’re excited like you mean it.”
“I’m not anxious, I’m excited,” I say with as much genuine belief as I can manage. “I am not nervous or anxious or anything the slightest bit negative. I am excited, pumped, ramped up, and ready to do the damned thing. As soon as I know what the damned thing is.”
She nods, casting an approving glance my way as she purrs, “Much better. Much, much better.”
“Hearing a man positively affirm makes your panties wet?”
She laughs, a sharp giggle that makes me think I took her by surprise. And even more intriguing, that it might be true…
“No! And stop that,” she says, slapping my thigh. “No talking about my panties in private.”