Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 143382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 717(@200wpm)___ 574(@250wpm)___ 478(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 717(@200wpm)___ 574(@250wpm)___ 478(@300wpm)
There was no denying my head had been firmly up my ass, so I let that slide.
“I can assume with the honesty you share with me, which is awesome by the way…”
His lips quirked, and he inclined his head to accept the compliment.
I kept speaking.
“…that you’re as honest with her.”
Eric nodded. “I am. And her response is to open a restaurant where I moved. And just to say, we have a branch of NI&S in LA. I had a nice house there too. A life. Friends. My closest being Darius, who now manages that branch since Mace moved here. And his wife, Malia, is my second closest. But I moved here to get away from Savannah.”
Whoa.
That put this in a whole new category.
Like, stalker category.
Because I didn’t feel I could share that (yet), I let my, “Cripes,” offer my thoughts.
He lifted his glass. “That about says it.”
I reached out and wrapped my fingers around his wrist.
“We’re not toasting to that. We’re toasting to heads being out of asses.”
He chuckled. “That’s something I’ll be down to toast to.”
I let his wrist go, we clinked glasses and sipped.
The wine was yum.
Yeah.
I done good.
“Excellent.” He was purring again, and physically being with him when he did it was oh so much better.
“My poutine wore off about an hour ago, so we need to make pizza,” I informed him.
“Where did you get poutine?”
“Brunch Snob.”
“You’ll have to take me there,” he murmured, putting his glass down and turning to a bowl with a towel over it.
I so was taking him to Brunch Snob.
He flipped the towel, and there was a perfect ball of pizza dough rising in it.
I bit my lip, because I doubted his mom taught him how to make pizza dough.
Maybe.
But doubtful.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
“What?” I asked.
He came to me, rested the sides of his hands on my neck and tipped my head back with his thumbs at my jaw.
Nice move.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “She taught me how to cook. That was part of the good times we had. But once she gave me that, it became mine, Jess. Okay?”
I nodded.
“Can we be done with her?” he requested.
I nodded more fervently.
He smiled. “Great.”
It was the perfect time for a kiss.
He didn’t kiss me.
He took his hands from me, moved to some canisters, and ordered, “Grab the red sauce from the stove.”
I let my disappointment at no kiss go, put my glass down and headed toward his massive six-burner Wolf stove.
They said delayed gratification was a thing.
Though I hoped it wasn’t too delayed before I could be the judge of that.
For your edification, getting my head out of my ass might not earn me a kiss from Eric Turner.
But it did significantly alter how we watched a movie together.
That being, after we ate his delicious homemade prosciutto and fig pizza topped with mounds of arugula, I’d seated myself on one side of the couch. He’d come up to me, bent, caught my leg behind my knee, lifted it so my wedge was in his stomach, and then with a few tugs and a flick, the strap was released, and the shoe was gone.
He repeated that with my other shoe.
And then he put his hands under my arms, lifted me up, and stretched us out across the long back side of the couch, me tucked to his front.
Once he had us situated, he leaned into me to grab the remote from the coffee table but left his arm draped around my waist after he fired up his TV.
I wasn’t given the option of a different seating arrangement.
But no way in hell was I complaining.
He murmured, “Need anything before we start?”
He’d emptied the last of the wine in our glasses before we headed to the couch, but mine was on the other end of the coffee table now.
“Just a sec,” I said as I started to push up to reach for it.
But he growled, “Hold.”
I was so stunned by his growling, and his word, I held as he pushed up and nabbed my glass.
He put it in reach and settled back behind me.
I didn’t know how to respond to this.
“I can reach for my glass, Turner,” I told him.
“I know,” he replied. “Though, now that reach is easier.”
It definitely was.
Though, I still didn’t know what to do with a man who was so attentive, he wouldn’t allow me to execute about a second’s worth of effort to grab a wineglass.
As noted, I’d never had anyone look after for me, certainly not someone who would growl at me so he could retrieve my glass.
He was the kind of man who, in a different time, would throw his mantle over a puddle so a woman wouldn’t get her shoes wet.
Or knock the shit out of his opponent with his lance in a joust to earn the ribbon from her hair.