Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 290(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 290(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
She shakes her head, a cascade of silken strands tumbling around her shoulders like liquid gold, and a soft smile graces her lips, illuminating her face with a radiant warmth. Her brown eyes shine with mischief. “When are you two gonna finally get off your asses and date already?”
I shoot her a quizzical expression, my eyebrows quirking up in amusement. “It’s not like that. We’re best friends.”
People might think I’m strange for having a male best friend, but who cares? It works for us. Paxton is that rare soul on this planet who truly understands me. Our friendship defies stereotypes, built on a connection that’s deeper than societal expectations. He’s my confidant, my partner in crime, and the one person who sees me for who I am. And in a world full of labels and judgments, having a friend like Paxton is a refreshing reminder that genuine connections know no boundaries.
“I heard Mr. Charleston gave you the BDSM assignment.”
My shoulders slump at the mention of my assignment. “Yeah.”
“You should ask Paxton to help you.”
I scrunch my face up in exaggerated distaste. “Heck no.”
“Think about it,” she calls after me as I head out.
I won’t think about it because Paxton and I don’t have that type of relationship. We never have. Our friendship began in kindergarten when the teacher told me to take a seat next to him. He sealed our bestie status when he gave me a red crayon, saying he didn’t like the color but thought I might because it would look pretty with my auburn hair.
I can’t lie and say Delia’s suggestion about Paxton doesn’t ramble through my head on the drive home. If anyone would look phenomenal administering pain, it would be him. I’ve watched him grow from a skinny boy to a muscular man, and I’m not made of stone. I’ve had my moments of wanting to trip and fall into his lips. But we’re friends. And always will be.
Usually, when I pull up to my cottage-style house, I instantly relax because it exudes quaint and cozy. It has character in its weathered white walls. I adore the bright blue shutters and pink flowers under the windows. I especially love the rocking chair on the front porch. Today, all I can think is this does not look like the house of someone about to embark on a BDSM mission.
I rent it from my aunt, who has retired to Florida, so we’ll blame her for the storybook-cottage vibe.
I head inside my place, drop my purse and keys on the kitchen counter, and order our food. I can’t wait until Paxton gets here and we can stuff our faces with beer and Pad Thai.
His family owns the local brewery, Atta Boy, and he gets me free beer all the time. Sometimes free food too.
Score, right?
With hurried hands I fluff the yellow pillows on the plush light-blue sofa, the soft fabric yielding to my touch. The couch is worn with years of snuggling up with a good book, or watching movies with Paxton. There’s a vintage record player on a shelf in the corner, playing soft music giving off relaxing vibes, which I love to do after work. I arrange a few knick-knacks along the shelf, smiling at the photo of Paxton and me taken down by the shore the day of our high school graduation. We were so full of happiness that day, knowing we had our whole lives ahead of us.
The doorbell rings, and I don’t need to peep through the peephole because I know who’s on the other side.
“Hey,” I say as I open the door.
Paxton steps inside with a backpack slung over one of his broad shoulders. “Hey, you. How was work?”
As usual, it takes me a moment to acclimate to Paxton’s presence. He’s got luscious dark hair and these dazzling green eyes that change their shade, depending on his mood. Like mood eyes. So sexy. He's tall and ripped. Not overly muscled, just the right amount. His lean body is the kind you want to explore with your fingertips, all the nooks and crannies. Not that I would ever do that, mind you.
My eyes follow his every movement as he sets down his backpack, ready to fill him in on my unusual day. “Well, my boss wants me to write an exposé on BDSM.”
Paxton’s green eyes zip to mine. “What?”
He follows me to the kitchen.
“Yeah, he wants me to learn, and I quote, all the things,” I say, using my fingers as air quotes.
“What?” he says, his eyes glued to mine.
“Yes, he thinks I need to go to a local meet up and learn all about BDSM.”
“What?”
“Please stop saying what,” I tell him, glancing at his backpack. “What’s this?”
His eyes are wide, possibly still processing what I was telling him about BDSM. “Okay, we’re going to have to circle back to the BDSM thing, but I brought you beer samples.”