Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
My giggles bounce around my room when Caleb replies, “It’s Octavia’s snores. They’re the equivalent of pressing your ear to a speaker at a rock concert. Deafening.” When he rolls onto his back to face what I assume to be the floor of his cousin’s bedroom, his face whitens like he’s seen a ghost.
He stops freaking like a child who wet the bed when I murmur, “I told you you’d catch a cold. It’s a given when you sleep in wet clothes.”
He exhales so deeply I’m reminded that not even the most handsome men in the world have scrumptious morning breath. “I slept in my clothes.”
“You did,” I harmonize before rolling onto my back. I usually sleep on my stomach, but it appears as if I didn’t move an inch overnight. The outline of my hip, thigh, and booty are indented on the mattress. “Thank you for staying with me. Last night was…”
“It was nothing,” Caleb assures when words allude me. His tone doesn’t sound anywhere near as convincing as the shock on his face. I guess I should give him some leeway. Only last night we said showers and sleepovers were too intimate, then we crossed off both items only hours later. “But I definitely need to take you up on your offer of coffee. My head…”
When he finalizes his statement by rubbing his temples, I prop myself up onto my elbows, then say, “I’m out of coffee pods, but there’s a cute little café half a block down.”
A smile tugs on my lips when Caleb stares at my almost exposed breasts long enough for me to imagine his tongue rolling out of his mouth like they did in the cartoons I watched every Saturday morning when I was a child.
I give him a couple of seconds to ogle the assets I’ll be more than happy for him to sample once I have a healthy dose of caffeine in my veins before muttering, “My eyes are a couple of inches higher.” When his eyes snap to my face, mortified, I say with a laugh, “They also do takeaway if you’d rather eat in?”
I’m throwing out feelers, and thankfully, Caleb catches them without incident. “I’ll grab us a couple of ventis and muffins.”
When he leaps out of my bed like it is on fire to toss on the shoes he toed off last night, I ask, “Are you sure?” He bought me all those burgers last night, so I don’t want to take advantage of his generosity again only hours later.
My ego threatens to combust when he murmurs, “If it means you stay naked, yeah, I’m sure.”
I melt into a puddle when he bobs down to press his lips to my temple then hotfoots it out of my bedroom, but it doesn’t keep me down for long. “Tell them to hold the sugar. I don’t need the extra calories.”
“Like hell you don’t,” Caleb shouts a mere second before the bang of my front door slamming shut booms through my quite apartment.
I try to remain in bed as per Caleb’s plan, but within seconds, I grow bored. I’m not one of those girls who can sit around and do nothing. First, I need to make sure my face isn’t a mess, and second, I need to put away the food my father ordered for me. I’ll never forgive myself if it goes to waste.
Certain a sexy satin slip won’t lessen the tension crackling between Caleb and me, I slip it on sans panties before padding into the kitchen.
I’ve only wrangled through the first box of perishables when a knock sounds at my door.
Caleb’s eagerness was notable by the way he raced out of here, but I’m still shocked at the speed of his return.
“Did you even wait for our order? Or did you take the first name called?” I ask with a giggle while pulling open my door.
I take a mental note to request a peephole when my guest is once again not who I’m anticipating. It isn’t Caleb. It is my father.
“Daddy, what are you doing here? It’s Sunday.” To some families, Sundays mean lazy sleep-ins and brunches at hip cafés, but for my family, it means early morning sermons and over a dozen whispered pledges to do better in confessional. Unlike my sisters, I only need to attend mass once a month since it is a two-hour drive to Portland.
I swallow harshly when my father replies, “Maurice called me. He told me what happened.” As he enters my apartment, his eyes stray to the hallway table that once housed his mother’s beloved vase. “I’m just curious as to why you didn’t tell me.”
He sounds angry, but the shake of his hands when he cups my cheek to inspect me with his glistening eyes exposes he isn’t. He can’t yell at his daughters, but my God, can he lecture us.