Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Coen smiles. “I assume you make more money on the canvas than the cups.”
“You’d be right about that.” I laugh. “And I obviously get more enjoyment when people buy my work to hang on their walls rather than stuff in their cupboards.”
“I bet,” he muses. “Is it a good living?”
“Yeah,” I say with a soft smile. “I mean… I’m not swimming in luxury clothes or sports cars, but I pay my bills, have a savings account, and I even put a little into a retirement each month.”
“And you’re from this area?”
“Born and raised, same as my parents.”
“And where are they?”
“They passed away a year and a half ago. Car accident.”
Coen winces. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” His expression softens in a way I haven’t seen on him, and it warms my chest. “Were you close to them?”
“Extremely.” I push back the sadness creeping in and focus on the good. “They were both artists, so I come by it naturally. Dad was a painter, but my mom created amazing metal sculptures.”
“You have one in your front yard,” he says. “A rabbit riding a bicycle.”
I beam at him, surprised he noticed it. “That’s right. I have a bunch of her work in storage. I plan on putting some of it out along my trails so when I’m out there, I can see it.”
Coen smiles and nods.
“What about you? Where are you from?”
His mouth draws into a flat line. “Connecticut.”
“Don’t like it there?”
“Not close to my family, so I don’t go back.”
His tone breaks my heart. It’s not said with bitterness or anger, more like flat acceptance. And while I know the man hasn’t been all that nice to me, or to the sport of hockey since the crash, I’ve also read enough about him to know he hasn’t always been like this. He’s been described as fun-loving, cocky with a humble edge, and generous to a fault, working with many Pittsburgh charities. If he has emotional baggage from his family, I’m not sure if he was carrying it around prior to the crash.
However, if he wasn’t close to them before the plane went down, chances of them being a good support system are nil.
Coen reaches out and runs his fingertip over my thigh. The touch is featherlight, but I feel it straight between my legs. My eyes snap up, and he’s got a devilish smile on his face. “Are you going to invite me back to your place when we leave?”
My heartbeat thunders at the request. “I don’t know.”
“Tell me why you’d say no.” His entire palm presses on my thigh, and he squeezes. “Let me talk you into it.”
“Maybe you can’t,” I suggest.
His thumb grazes my skin before his hand falls away. “Remember what it felt like when my face was pressed between your legs?”
“Oh God.” I look around to make sure no one can hear us.
“I want to do that again,” he says, his voice gruff and thick with promise.
“Oh God,” I whisper, unable to come up with anything better.
“Say you’ll invite me home with you.” Coen pushes up from his lounging position to lean on his hip. His face is close to mine, and I can’t tear my eyes from his. “You won’t regret it.”
I’m sure I’ll regret it because there’re a million reasons why this is a bad idea.
And yet, I can’t help but answer, “Okay.”
CHAPTER 16
Tillie
My heart feels like it’s going to leap out of my chest, and the sensation of excitement dappled with unease ripples through me. This could be a very bad idea.
Could be a very good idea.
I thought I knew the measure of the type of man Coen was, but today he flipped the script.
Before, I figured his interest was basic, rooted in carnality and probably a need to control. Proximity had to play a part, and maybe I’m just an easy conquest because if I’d let him perform oral sex on me up against a tree when I barely knew him, he has to assume I’d let him into my bed.
And if that’s all there was between us, that would be easier to accept because the rules are defined.
But he’s made it all weird now by claiming to want to be my friend. We hung out all afternoon and into the early evening with my friends. Quiet though he was, for the most part, he was not standoffish, and we had what could pass as normal conversations between two people who are developing a friendship.
Then the sun set, the moon rose, and the festival got packed. Most of the people there were supremely inebriated and fights broke out. Ann Marie and Xander were the first to leave, taking Hayley home, and when Erica and Hank decided to bug out, I knew it was time to leave too. I might have waited until the last possible minute because I knew Coen had expectations for when we left, and I fully intended to fulfill them. I might be feeling some trepidation, but mostly my nerves are rooted in anticipation of what Coen said he wanted to do to me.