Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
But he doesn’t laugh at me, or turn tail and run. Instead, he politely says, “Can I help you with your bags?”
I can’t help but grin in relief. “I’d love that.”
I watch his eyebrows inch towards his hairline as he takes my suitcase, duffel bag, and giant purse. All, of course, are in my favorite pattern. “Do you like leopard print?” Matt asks casually, but there’s a hint of teasing in his words.
“Not at all,” I reply, tossing my hair playfully. When he laughs, I say, “No, I love it. Fully fifty percent of my wardrobe is leopard, I’ll have you know.” I consider this statement and revise it. “Or tiger. Or zebra.”
He gasps in mock horror as we walk through the terminal. I giggle. Matt looks so buttoned-up that I wouldn’t have pegged him as the playful type. But now, he’s become even more attractive to me.
“Fifty percent?” he repeats incredulously. “What’s the other fifty percent?”
“Faux leather,” I reply immediately. He casts me a sideways glance at that, one brow rising, and I laugh to distract him from the blush blooming across my cheekbones. “Okay, okay, it’s only twenty-five percent animal print,” I say. “I swear I own one or two things that are solid colors, but those colors are usually black or hot pink.”
We exit the airport and walk to the parking lot. I take in my surroundings, barely able to restrain a gasp of wonder. Toto, we’re definitely not in NYC anymore. In the distance I see snow-capped mountains, stark against a flawless blue sky. The small airport is surrounded by long stretches of emerald grass and tall evergreen trees. Tiny purple flowers line the sidewalks.
“It’s beautiful here,” I breathe.
Matt smiles. “First time in Montana?” he asks.
I nod. “I’ve toured plenty of states, but somehow Montana has never been on the list.”
He raises a brow again at that. “Toured?” he asks. “Are you in the military?”
“Oh, God, no,” I say in a rush. “I wouldn’t last a second. ‘Toured’ as in ‘toured around the country in a smelly bus with a band.’”
He pulls out a set of keys from his pocket, and I almost walk straight into his car, not realizing it’s his. I do my best to keep my jaw from dropping. It’s a sleek, silver, shiny Jaguar. Damn.
Like a true gentleman, Matt opens the passenger door for me, and I clamber inside. “Is this a 2020 XE?” I ask before I can keep my stupid mouth shut.
He grins at me from the driver’s seat, having put my luggage safely in the trunk. “I didn’t even get a chance to ask about the band,” he says, “and now you’re going to stun me with your car knowledge?”
We peel out of the parking lot and onto the road. I roll my window down and stick my arm out, pleased to feel the warm summer air against my skin. “The band is called Lolly Popz,” I inform him, trying not to stare at his perfect profile as he drives, or at the long-fingered hands on the wheel. “I’m one of the founding members. We’re an all-female pop punk band. I sing. As for the car,” I smile, “my grandpa loves cars and kind of drilled that knowledge into me, too.”
“Beautiful, talented, and car-savvy,” Matt says, meeting my gaze in the rearview mirror for just a moment. “I look forward to getting to know you even more, Jenna.”
I must be blushing from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I am not a regular blusher--this is entirely unprecedented for me. This perfect man just has this effect on me, I guess.
I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. It’s Sarah. Did you land yet? Did you meet the guy yet?!
While Matt is focused on the road, I quickly text back, Yes and yes.
And???
Perfect. Dreamy. Flawless. Hotter than hot. I’m gonna die.
My best friend responds with sixteen exclamation points, and I laugh.
“Is my driving funny?” Matt asks, and, without thinking, I playfully swat him on the arm. I immediately blush an even deeper crimson, but he just grins at me, his previously arched eyebrow ascending even higher.
Oh, boy, I think as we cruise down the highway. What have I gotten myself into?
Chapter Five
Jenna
Snow Valley, Montana is nothing like New York City, or even like the cute suburb in New Jersey that my grandparents live in. Instead of skyscrapers, cracking sidewalks, and throngs of people, there are squat, cheerfully-painted buildings, lush greenery, and smiling faces everywhere. As we drive slowly through the downtown area, I spy several strolling families eating ice cream or carrying shopping bags from the cute mom-and-pop shops. A beautiful fountain shoots water into the air in elaborate arcs. Behind everything, the snow-capped mountains loom like watchful guardians.
“It’s so beautiful here,” I say, waving to a little kid who stares as we drive by.