Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 131330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“Couldn’t agree more,” my father says, leaning back and rubbing his full stomach.
Holy fucking shit.
My wine spurts from my fucking nose, redecorating Mom’s good dining table, and I hastily grab a bunch of napkins and start mopping up my mess as Izaac laughs to himself.
“Jesus Christ,” Austin mutters in annoyance, his white shirt now stained with wine as he tries to shake it off his arms, splattering wine across the whole damn room. “Learn how to swallow.”
Izaac chokes on a laugh, his wicked gaze meeting mine. “Oh, she’s got no problem there,” he says under his breath.
Fucking hell. He did not just say that.
“Do you have any mock-ups for the front of the restaurant?” I rush out, desperately trying to change the topic from my ability to swallow before Austin or my parents have a chance to process what was said.
“Yeah, actually. I do,” Austin says as I hastily hurry back to my seat, more than happy to move this right along. “I’ve got a bunch made up that I want to show you. I think you’ll really like them, but I want your honest input. If your name is going up on the wall, I want it to be just right.”
“Do you have them here?” I ask. “I’d be happy to take a look after lunch.”
“Would I risk dropping a bomb like that and not bring them along? Fuck, Aspen. Do you even know me at all?”
I roll my eyes and refill my wine, not stopping until it’s almost flowing over the rim. “Good point,” I mutter, and with that, we get stuck right back into our lunch. Mom and Dad bombard us all with questions about life, hitting Izaac with all the ins and outs of his club shit while sucker punching me with all the college bullshit.
An hour later, the dining table is clear and the mess from my failed spaghetti and meatballs has been cleaned up, but damn, my arm is sore from having to scrub the bottom of the meatball pot.
With plenty of sun left in the afternoon sky, I trudge down to my room, hoping I remembered to leave a cute bikini here the last time I dropped by. I close the door behind me before scrounging through my old closet and finding a small red triangle bikini. It’s old and will barely cover me, but it’ll get the job done. Besides, the only person who’s going to look is Izaac, and there’s nothing there he hasn’t already spent long hours drowning in.
Peeling my dress off, I toss it onto my bed before reaching behind me to unclip my bra, and just as the purple lace falls to the ground, my bedroom door opens and I grin wide as Izaac discreetly steps in, his heated gaze roaming over my bare chest. “You mind, perve?” I tease. “I’m trying to get dressed here.”
“By all means,” he says, stepping into me and hooking his thumbs into the waistband of my thong. “Let me help.”
I shove him off me, trying to keep my tone low. “I think you’ve done more than enough.”
Izaac laughs and grips my chin, lifting it until my eyes lock onto his. “And I’ll do it a million times over,” he murmurs, his tone so damn low that my pussy aches for him all over again. “I’ll never tire of your sweet little cunt.”
I swallow hard. “You’re playing a risky game today.”
“I know,” he admits with a heavy sigh before reaching for my bikini top. He pulls it around me before tying it in a perfect knot in the center of my back and taking the second set of strings to wrap around my neck, only he uses it to his advantage as he pulls me in against him.
Once the bikini top is firmly in place, he brushes my hair back over my shoulder before skimming his fingers down my arms as though mesmerized by the feel of my skin beneath his. “I’m not going to lie, Birdy. That speech he gave at the table about why he’s naming his restaurant after you made me feel like a piece of shit.”
“I know,” I murmur, dropping my head against his chest. “Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”
“Fuck no,” he scoffs. “Your mom was right though. The longer we keep him in the dark, the worse it’s going to be, but I don’t know if I can tell him. How the fuck am I supposed to explain this without gutting him? He’ll never trust you again, and me . . . He’ll fucking despise me.”
Guilt radiates through my chest, making it harder to breathe, and he pulls me in tighter, and despite everything that’s gone down today, I sense that same rejection within him. “Just say it,” I sigh, feeling the hurt well up in my chest.