Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 138526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
There’s just something about this man that has me wanting to keep impressing him.
“Two hundred and twelve,” I state before he collapses onto the bed, a panting mess of a man that I just satisfied in less than five minutes.
“I think I’m dead,” he mutters and sits up, his eyes hazy and satisfied.
I do that kiss the fingers thing that Italian’s do when discussing good food and he laughs so hard he falls back onto the bed and tears leak from his eyes.
“I fucking love you,” he says through his laughter, pulling me onto his lap after sobering a little.
“Is that what you wanted to tell me?”
His smile slowly fades, only to be replaced with something more somber.
“I’ve always been faithful,” he implores as his hand strokes my cheek. “I don’t just fuck every woman I meet. Before you, there was no one else. You’re not just some notch on my bed post or whatever goes through your head when I leave you at night. I mean, I’m a normal human so of course I’ve thought about it, but I never have. You’re—”
“I’m different, right?” I ask, frowning at him. “You know how cliché that sounds?”
“It’s true, remember that night we stayed up in my hotel just talking until the sun rose? And you told me that story about how you tried to save that dog from drowning, but it turned out to be a mannequin head?”
I nod, it was a good night. A very good night. We’d been working but stopped and started talking, and the conversation just flowed. So did the laughter and the banter and the… flirting. I can’t claim innocence at all. I flirted with him, though not intentionally. It was just a normal response to being in the presence of a funny and attractive guy.
This was back before I had laser eye surgery.
“I realized then how… amazing we are together.”
“What does that have to do with me saving a wig on a plastic head?”
“I don’t know, probably how cute you were, how typical it was of you.”
“I saved a sea turtle somewhere,” I grumble, making him laugh.
“You’re just so adorable.”
“You make me sound like a puppy,” I jest as I brush the backs of my fingers down his chest. “But… it was Christmas for me, I think. I denied it but whenever you walked away from me you left me with butterflies in my stomach and a racing heart.” I press his hand to my chest and then press mine to his. “Did you know if you sit next to somebody you love for long enough your hearts synchronize?”
“Ours synchronized the day we met, and you walked into my office all cute as a button, with your huge glasses and hideous plaid blazer with elbow patches. I knew the moment I laid my eyes on you that you were going to turn my world upside down. I just never imagined it could be like this.” He smiles a blinding, toothy smile at me until I kiss it from his face. When we come up for air he continues, “I shouldn’t love you like I do. It’s not fair.”
“I know.”
“Just hang on tight, okay? While we figure this out.”
I don’t know what he means by that but I’m hanging on for dear life.
It feels wrong going with Izabella to take Maria to soccer practice, especially when for the past few days, not including the weekend just gone, I’ve been all over her son. Nobody seems to know or suspect a thing, but then why would they? We’ve been working together for a long time now, and to outsiders, nothing in our professional relationship has changed. The only difference is now he picks me up before work and drops me off at home.
The only interaction I’ve had with his wife about this was when she asked me to ask her husband to remember her dry cleaning on Friday.
That was an awkward conversation to say the least. I texted it to him, I can’t bear to say her name or speak of her to him. It’s easier just pretending he’s single.
I think he feels the same because he doesn’t mention her either. Though we often talk fondly of Maria. I’ve missed this girl so much.
“She says you usually get pizza and ice cream afterwards?” Izabella asks as we watch the kids dribble their soccer balls around small plastic cones on the grass.
“Yep, always. Not the healthiest habit but it became one of my favorite weekly rituals. Sometimes we’d take Renee too, her closest soccer buddy, and then drop her home afterwards.”
“You’re really good to them, I can’t imagine you get paid for this.”
“I don’t mind, and I often use Mr. Conti’s credit card to pay for the pizza and dessert so…”
We share a laugh.
“As you should. I hear sometimes he joins you too?” Her tone is cautious and higher than usual.