Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 103061 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103061 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“You are. And this is one hundred percent the hottest thing a guy has ever done for me.”
“Oh yeah?” I grinned as I began carefully mending the ripped seam with tight, even stitches.
“Definitely. Nothing else even comes close.” She watched me finish the job, tie a knot, and snip the thread.
Nervous, I turned the dress right side out and checked my work—probably not as good as my mother would have done, but the hole was gone and I couldn’t see evidence of crooked stitches.
I handed it over. “There you go. Sorry I ripped it.”
She took the dress from me and grinned. “Liar.”
“You’re right. I’m not sorry.” And she looked so cute in my shirt, I couldn’t resist pulling her onto my lap so she straddled my thighs once more. “In fact, put it on and I’ll rip it again. I’ll tear it to pieces this time. With my teeth.”
She laughed. “Easy, killer.”
“This is probably one of those red flags you were talking about, huh?” I slid my hands beneath the shirt to the sides of her ribcage.
“I don’t know,” she said, putting her hands on my chest. “No one’s ever torn my clothes before. Or pinned me down that way. Or said those kinds of things.”
“I guess even selfish assholes have better manners than me.”
She smiled. “I guess so. But it’s okay, because I’m not looking for a boyfriend this time, remember?”
“That’s right.” I recalled what she’d said last night. “You’re in rehab for your love addiction.”
“Exactly. So you can go right ahead and rip my clothes and pin me down and say all kinds of filthy things to me.”
I growled again, gripping her sides. “Don’t tempt me, little girl.”
“I’m serious.” She slid her palms to the back of my neck. “You can do all that and more, but don’t call me baby, don’t start believing in happily ever after, and definitely don’t bring me any more Frostys.”
“Never? Not even on your birthday?”
She shook her head. “Especially not on my birthday. Because then I would have to grow old with you, and neither of us wants that.”
I scowled. “Fuck that bullshit.”
“Then we agree. All in fun.” She smiled and leaned forward, kissing my lips. “I should go.”
I didn’t want her to leave, but I didn’t want to ask her to stay either. Like she said, this was all in fun—and as much fun as it would be to throw her over my shoulder, take her upstairs, and have my way with her in bed, spending the night together was something people in relationships did. This wasn’t that.
Thank God we were on the same page.
She stood up and traded my shirt for her dress, turning around so I could zip it for her. Again, she held her hair out of the way, and once the dress was zipped, I was tempted to press my lips to the back of her neck. Wrap my arms around her waist. Bury my face in her golden hair and breathe in deep.
But this wasn’t that.
This was never going to be that.
“Thanks,” she said, facing me again.
“No problem. I’ll walk you back.”
She laughed. “Dex, I live like fifteen feet away.”
But I followed her outside anyway. “I told you before, I’m a firefighter and a dad. Keeping people safe is my thing.”
On the patio, she gave me a quick hug. “Sleep tight.”
“See you,” I said, careful not to hold her.
She walked over to her place and slid the door open, then gave me a wave. “Night.”
“Night.” I watched her step inside and called out. “Hey.”
She leaned out and looked over at me. “What?”
“I had fun tonight.”
“Me too.”
“But I don’t love you.”
She burst out laughing. “I don’t love you either.”
“Good. Now stay off my patio or else.”
She blew me a kiss and disappeared inside.
I stood there for a moment, listening to my heart thump a little louder than it should.
Grabbing the empty beer bottle from the ground, I smiled as I remembered the way she’d taken it from me and climbed onto my lap.
She was trouble, all right.
But nothing I couldn’t handle.
Thirteen
Winnie
“You’re in a good mood today.” My sister Millie’s voice was pleasant but slightly suspicious.
Seated across from her at her desk, I looked up from the notes I was taking about a wedding we’d just booked. “What makes you say that?”
“You keep humming.”
“I do?”
“Yes. At least I think it’s humming—with you it’s hard to tell.”
“Very funny.” My awful singing was a running joke in our family. I was completely tone-deaf and had a voice like a squeaky door hinge.
Millie eyeballed me curiously as she took a sip of coffee. “So what’s up?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly, dropping my eyes to the list of vendors I was compiling. “Hey, what do you think about suggesting Cece Carswell as videographer? The bride said she wanted a more cinematic feel, maybe not perfectly linear.”