Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“I’m seriously not going to tell you, Gabs. Just sit your cute ass there and wait two minutes,” he teases, reaching over and grabbing my hand with his. He doesn’t let go; just holds it comfortably between us on the console and surprisingly, I don’t mind.
Glancing around, I notice we’re circling around the lake our town is known for. I love it out here, so peaceful and quiet. I used to love taking the pontoon out every weekend when I was younger, but now, the older I get, I’m lucky to enjoy a couple of random days on the lake during peak summer months.
Chase pulls off, taking one of the dirt roads that lead to the water. This is one I rarely take, mostly opting to park at the marina or one by the beaches. We bounce around the well-used road until the majestic lake stretches widely before us. The sun is just starting to drop low in the sky and I can’t help but smile at his earlier words.
“Let’s go,” he says, parking along the road and jumping from the truck. He darts around to the passenger side and before I can unbuckle my seat belt, he has my door open. “Come on, slowpoke.”
The smile playing on his full lips is the reason I respond with, “Stop using those terms of endearment on me.”
Chase chuckles. “When I use terms of endearment, you’ll know it, sweetheart.” He runs his thumb along my bottom lip before adding a wink for good measure. “Now, let’s go! You’re as slow as my grandma Edna on her way to church on Sunday morning.”
He grabs the backpack, reaches for my hand, and leads me down the walking path. I can see the water just beyond the tall grass and a smile instantly spreads across my lips when the lake comes into view. The landscape is dotted with a few boats, some fishing, while others are just trolling slowly through the open water.
“I love it here,” I say, mostly to myself, but know Chase heard me when he squeezes my hand and replies, “Me too.”
When he lets me go, it’s to dig into the backpack. He pulls out a small plaid blanket and spreads it out along the grassy shore, followed by retrieving a handful of small plastic containers. He crouches down on his knees, the muscles in his legs flexing in that incredibly sexy way, and waves for me to join him. “Have a seat, pokie.”
I go ahead and give him a big eye roll, since I know how much he loves it, and take a seat, legs crossed, across from him. “What’s all this?” I ask, pointing to the familiar kitchen containers spread out between us.
“Dinner.”
The first container houses cut up watermelon. He takes a small piece and holds it out for me. Leaning forward, I place my lips around the sweet fruit, brushing against his fingers. Chase’s eyes dilate with need as I take the fruit into my mouth and chew. I swear I can hear him groan.
As if clearing the fog from his brain, he gives his head a quick shake and reaches for the second container. Cottage cheese with tomato slices on top. One of my favorite comfort foods. He hands me a plastic fork and tells me to dig in. I do as instructed, cutting the juicy pieces of tomato into quarters and then coating them with the white curded cheese.
“So good,” I mumble, my mouth full of food.
“I could get off watching you eat.” His statement is blunt and brings my eyes to his. They’re serious and packed with desire and have me squirming in my seat.
“That’s… graphic.”
“That’s the truth. I love watching you eat,” he says, reaching for the third and final container. “That’s why I brought this.” Chase pulls off the lid and steam rises into the warm air around us.
“Are those…”
“Chicken wings? They are. I thought I’d torture myself even further by watching you gnaw on tiny chicken bones and licking honey barbecue off your fingers.”
“Honey barbecue?” I ask, suddenly very, very excited for dinner. Chase essentially brought some of my favorite foods to our picnic tonight.
“I pay attention, Gabs. At least when it comes to you,” he says, offering me the bowl to take the first wing.
My mouth waters as the warm sauce coats my fingertips and I bring it to my lips. “So fucking good,” I moan, savoring the sweet and spiciness in the seasonings.
“I did bring wet naps,” he adds, tossing a handful of the small square packages onto the blanket beside us. Then he reaches for his own piece of chicken and digs in.
The bugs are at a minimum as we continue to eat in silence. My eyes bounce between watching the boats on the lake and watching Chase lick barbecue sauce from his long fingers. I can understand his reaction when I did it because seeing his lips move and his mouth suck on his fingers pretty much has me wet and aching.