Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
He and I still have not spoken, and now that I’ve managed to distract myself with Dallas, I have no desire to.
Distract myself?
Really, Ryann, is that what you’re doing?
Kind of.
Is that what you’d be calling it if he were interested in dating you? You dated a schlepp like Diego and had no problem with it—are you going to lie to yourself and say you wouldn’t jump at the chance to go on a real date with Dallas Colter?
Good-looking.
Sort of witty.
Honest.
Bright future ahead of him.
How many guys your age can claim they have any job prospects lined up after graduation?
Basically none of them.
I would be a fool not to have a teensy-weensy crush on him.
Just a bit…
Stop, Ryann. Stop it.
He’s here now to relax and chill, not listen to you whine about what a shitty friend you are.
Friend?
Yeah, I suppose that’s what we are.
“Ryann?” His low, deep voice cuts through the baking show on the television, gravelly and sexy.
“Hmm?”
“If you want to make it up to me, you might consider giving me a back rub.”
“Make it up to you? Make what up to you?”
“You know, thinking I’m a douche and assuming you needed to reform me.”
Um, yeah, I did do that. “And all I have to do to get back in your good graces is give you a back rub?”
“Shoulder massage would be killer. I’d love you forever.”
I’d love you forever…
I shiver, averting my eyes so he doesn’t see the effect his voice has on my girly parts, adjusting myself on the couch so I’m in an optimal ‘shoulder rub’ position.
“Yeah?” His brows go up skeptically. “You’re actually going to give me a massage?”
“Sure, why not?”
Dallas wastes no time shrugging out of my fluffy, girly robe to bare his upper torso. “No decent massage can be had over a layer of clothes.”
He lets the furry fabric pool at his waist.
I stare at his back, eyes roaming over the firm muscles, tight trapezius and deltoids, all terms I learned the summer I took a biology class in high school to fulfill my science credits.
My eyes roam farther south.
“Are you wearing underwear?” I eyeball his lower back quizzically, specifically his nether region. The tapered waist, the iliac crest.
“No, they’re still drying. Hope you don’t mind that I hung them in the bathroom over the shower curtain rod.”
I nod slowly, gaze glued to the smooth plane of his back muscles.
“Um…no, that’s fine.”
He wiggles his shoulders. “Now about that back rub…”
“Oh my God, you’re the worst.”
“I might be the worst, but I’m sore as hell, and I’ll return the favor.”
He’ll return the favor? This perks me up. “You’ll massage me? Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
Not sure where to put my hands, I hover them over his shoulder blades before slowly lowering them to rest on his skin.
His hot, smooth skin…
His thick, strong neck…
He’s recently gotten his hair cut, dark hair a clean line.
My thumbs begin kneading the base, fingers digging in as deep as they can, over and over and over until they’re tired and I need to change position, flattening my palms and pressing them into his spine.
Up.
Down.
Dallas moans.
“Don’t you have trainers or something who do this for you?”
He dips his head in a nod. “Yup. None of them are as sweet as you, though.”
Sweet?
Ha.
He’s full of shit. “We both know I’m not sweet.”
“Probably not, but that’s ’cause you haven’t had the chance to be. You haven’t let your guard down yet.”
My guard? I don’t have a guard.
“I don’t have my guard up.”
“Sure you do. We all do, yours is just waitin’ for someone to shit on you again—the way Diego shit on you.”
My mouth falls open and my hands falter, sitting motionless on his skin.
Is he right? Did I put walls up because I’m waiting for a guy to come along and treat me like an afterthought because Diego did?
And here I thought it was the other way around. Here I thought Dallas was the one with his guard up, waiting for people to use him.
“Guess we have that in common.”
He agrees with my sentiment.
Again, I knead his back, hands sliding down his biceps then up again, massaging but also feeling him up if I’m being honest, the heat from his body warming my palms.
So hard.
So toned.
Incredible.
I’ve never been in awe of a man’s body before. Never seen one like this in person or touched one.
“What’s goin’ on back there?” he rumbles.
I didn’t realize I’d been moving my hands in the same pattern, up and down his arms, until he said something, and I blush to the tips of my toes.
“Sorry.”
Somewhere in the back of my brain, I hear Brennon on the television shouting to see if another baker is using the chill blaster. Another part of my brain wants to move my hands to the front of Dallas’s body and run them over his pecs.