Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 107673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“Promise me, when you see how badly I don’t fit in, you’ll let me down easy.”
Dash’s face morphed through multiple expressions. I pressed my fingers against his lips to keep his words on the inside.
“Just promise me.”
I slightly lifted my hand off his mouth by a marginal degree. “Are you saying because you might not—” My hand pressed down again, stopping him from speaking.
“Promise me.” I brought my other hand to the back of his head, keeping him locked there.
“Well, I don’t know how to do that with your hands actively keeping me quiet,” Dash mumbled against the firm press of my finger. “But yes, I promise not to let you leave me because you’re uncomfortable.” Frustrated with being silenced, he tugged my forearm away, dislodging my hold. “I went to your world and tried my best to fit in. I wasn’t always comfortable, but I tried. Can you please try for me?”
The underhanded, dirty, con man got me good with that reply. He wasn’t wrong. And no, his efforts only made me want him more.
“Yeah, I can.” I nudged him under the spray and snatched the soap from the shelf.
Now, what was my plan to get through it all? If I stayed cool, remained quiet, and followed Dash’s lead, maybe I’d unravel the mystery of rich people…
Nah, I’d humiliate Dash. My nervous energy struck double time fast, sending me into super negative mode.
The demon of insecurity began running loops inside my head. The push I gave to the soap bottle dumped way more out than I wanted. Maybe it was a sign. Of what? I didn’t know. I had bigger problems. I ran my hands over my body, washing away the grime of the day. Maybe it’d rinse the layers of me off with it, remove all the country hick so I’d present better to be worthy of Dash.
“Hey, come here,” Dash called from the kitchen, where he was no doubt preparing something delicious for us, probably ice cream. I love that stuff. “Amelia's not thrilled that you're taking over her duties.” I couldn't help but roll my eyes.
“It's not right for her to do all the dirty work,” I said, giving my perpetual response as I planned to tackle my laundry after I finished sweeping the foyer. My work boots always left a trail of the outside when I came in.
“But that’s her exact job,” Dash laughed, stepping around the pile of dirt I’d created, with a bowl of ice cream in hand. He took a bite from the one bowl, two spoons and two scoops. “She’s asked me to put a lock on the laundry room door to keep you out. Your vibe’s messing up her flow.”
I glanced his way while drawing the dirt into a tight circle. All I’d ever done was my laundry. How did that mess with her flow? I vacuumed and swept what I left behind...
“You’re overthinking it.” The spoon entered my peripheral vision, laden with a tempting scoop of ice cream. "I may have embellished a bit. She wants to take care of you like she takes care of me. Now, come join me on the sofa. It’s my attempt to begin using other rooms in this house rather than the two we stick to. Dig into this with me. I put extra hot fudge, so the ice cream is beginning to melt."
He sashayed closer, reeling me in with his unmitigated charm. I took the bait and leaned in for a bite. His pucker came next. Ice cream was on his lips, and the tip of his tongue slipped inside my mouth. Dash was a goofball, offering me a bite to then steal it. Another spoonful followed. This time, he let me have it all to myself.
I grabbed the dustpan, ushering the small amount of dirt I found inside, and started toward the trash can. If I didn’t do it now, there was zero way he’d allow me to finish. Everything Dash did had a romantic edge. Floor sweeping was likely to ruin the mood he was creating. “Go sit down. I’ll dump this and be there.”
“I just received an email that Dedman accepted me into their accelerated program, allowing me to graduate a semester early. I then called Haynes, Baker, Smart, and Reed. They seemed happy that I can begin work on January 6th,” Dash explained, following me until we ended on the sofa facing the backyard. The bite he scooped went into his mouth as I dropped down beside him.
"Exactly what you wanted. Good for you," I chirped. I took the second spoon and scooped up a mouthful of ice cream, savoring it when it hit my tongue.
“I also heard today from admissions,” he added, his expressive face turning neutral, lawyer mode worthy. And here we go again. What had Dash cooked up now? “You have a place at SMU. They’re offering scholarships to help fund you.”