Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
“Cassadina?”
“I—yes?” I do my best, innocent I was not just thinking about licking you from head to toe face.
“Let’s skip lunch.”
“I can’t skip lunch! I’m not going to pass my driver’s test if we don’t eat pie and fries together!”
He sighs patiently. “You do realize that there is zero correlation between the two. For one, that’s not luck. That’s superstition, which is utter nonsense. Your road test depends on your skill behind the wheel and your ability to take direction from the examiner, not from whatever we might eat or not eat today. I have absolutely nothing to do with it. It’s all about your own confidence.”
“I don’t believe that. I’ve had a run of good things happen to me like you wouldn’t believe since you came around. It all started with you. That’s not a coincidence. It can’t be.”
“It can, and it is.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll call your granny and tattle on you!” Alright, so apparently, I’ve resorted to being a five-year-old brat—foot stomp and petulant lip-pursed pout not included.
Honestly, right now, I’m desperate enough that I don’t care. And maybe, just maybe, even though I’ve sworn off men, so they don’t get decapitated or crushed, and also so they can’t break my heart, I do want to spend an hour with Lennox because he’s funny and witty and entertaining in his own way. And maybe, just maybe, it would be good to have one more person I could count as a friend in my life.
Lennox’s eyes practically cross as he studies me by looking down his nose. I’m tall. Five nine. But he’s a lot taller. He’s tall enough that he has to look down on me, and a lot of people don’t, so that’s also kind of thrilling. You know what else is thrilling? The dangerous intent in those emerald eyes of his as he studies me.
A shiver goes zipping through me, and all my stomach muscles clench hard even before he cups my face in his big, manly hands and in palms that may or may not have handled poo in a jar. But you know what, I don’t really give a shit. Ha. I’m already neck-deep in a poo patch, getting stormed on by the mother of all poo storms—oh right, that’s just my life in general. As such, it makes sense that all I can do is stand here and blink up at him like a poor deer in headlights. I have no idea what he’s doing, but please, peaches and cream, can he do it more?
I close my eyes and have visions that flicker quickly through my mind, as if my entire life was flashing before my eyes, of Lennox brushing those lush lips of his against mine, locking our mouths, and kissing me into bloody oblivion right here in the alley. Of course, in my insta-fantasy, he also scoops me up in his strong, muscly arms with those movie star biceps, cups my bottom line in his meaty palms, and slams me up against the wall while he plunders my lips. I wrap my legs around his waist and rock against his massive—
“Cass?”
My eyes jerk open. I’m panting. Oh my god, I’m panting. And oh my god, he’s still holding my face in his hands. His hands are warm, slightly calloused, and big. So, so big. Big hands, big—
“We’re skipping lunch. You’re going to go home and sit down and set an intention, or whatever it is, and tell yourself that you are not unlucky. You need to manifest yourself as passing your test. Now. This is all the luck you’re going to need.” Just like that, he leans forward and brushes his soft, soft man lips over my forehead.
It’s not a kiss. It’s not a kiss. It’s not a kiss.
It’s some kind of benediction. A manifesting of—of—oh god, how soft were those lips?
I’ve never considered myself to be an impulsive person, but right now, I’m hot in the jeans, my ovaries are raring to go, and it’s been a long time since I’ve seen any action. My biscuit became so used to being stone cold that, right now, I don’t know what to do with the sudden fire igniting me. It makes me reckless, and it also makes me feel like a woman—a regular woman, not an unlucky, cursed woman.
While Lennox cups my face, I cup his. I haul his face down a few inches until it’s at the perfect angle, then I step onto my tiptoes and give him a proper kiss. Our lips lock the way I imagined, and then I whimper, and it’s game on multiplied by like ten plus a piano and some turd in a jar. Lennox growls against my lips, and they part because, I mean, what growl isn’t the proper code word for opening up the lips? His tongue thrusts into my mouth, and I lick at it, lapping him up because I’m starved, dying of thirst, and incredibly fucking horny as I’ve been celibate due to my bad luck for a good long while now, and Lennox is like an alien that fell from outer space. A super sexy, bearded alien.