Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Or do you have to actually do the deed more than once to qualify?
This is the question front of mind from the moment my alarm blares at three-thirty Monday morning—interrupting a dream in which Weaver was feeding me exotic foods while slipping his hand between my legs beneath the table—until late Monday afternoon, as I’m zoning out on my favorite couch in the café with a chubby gray cat in my lap, pondering where I might be able to acquire “nice panties” in our one lobster town.
I don’t want to change myself for a man in any way, even a small way.
But I do want Weaver to look at me the way he did after our kiss on the boardwalk yesterday, like I’m the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. Like he can barely control the urge to rip my clothes off and—
“Earth to Gertie.” Elaina’s sharp words are followed by a snap of her fingers, inches from my face.
I do a full-body flinch, sending Maybe bolting for the cat climbing structure, where he was hiding in one of the bottom tubes when I arrived. “What, I’m awake, I’m awake. What?”
“I’ve been asking if you wanted a truffle with your espresso shot for at least two minutes.” Elaina props her hands on her hips, making her orange velvet circle skirt poke out even more than it did before. For someone who professes to hate Halloween, she spends a large chunk of October dressed in orange and black. “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing,” I say, feeling bad about withholding information from my best friend, but the fewer people who know I’m seeing Weaver Tripp in a romantic capacity, the better. “I’m fine. Just tired from being out on the boat in the cold all day.”
“You were humming to yourself,” she accuses, her eyes narrowing on my face.
I plaster on what I hope is an innocent expression. “So?”
“And smiling.”
I arch a brow. “I’m not allowed to smile?”
“Of course, you’re allowed to smile. You’re allowed to smile and hum and stare at the wall like you’re watching a dreamy movie only you can see,” she says, settling onto the cushion beside me. “But not when you refuse to share what has you on cloud nine.” She points a finger at my chest, “Or who… It’s a who, isn’t it? And I’d bet a year’s supply of fancy Himalayan salt that his name starts with a W.”
“Hush!” My eyes fly wide as my gaze flits about what I can see of the café behind her, but thankfully, we appear to be alone.
“Relax, Monday afternoons are always dead,” she says. “There’s no one here but us. Well, us and the cats, but they know how to keep a secret.” Her bottom lip pushes out in an exaggerated pout. “And I do, too. I promise. Please tell me what’s going on. Maya’s been busy shopping with her mom and Sydney’s up to her armpits in moving boxes and no one has time for me. I’m lonely and need gossip.”
“You should consider talking to someone about that,” I say, only half kidding. “Being able to be alone for a day or two is an important skill.”
Elaina kicks off her ballet flats, settling more fully onto the couch. “Yeah, yeah, or I can just keep being a chatty extrovert and living my one wild life the way I want to live it.”
“Co-dependent and up in everyone’s business?”
“Yes,” she says seriously. “Now spill it. You talked to Weaver yesterday, right? What did he say? About your mom and dad and all the drama?”
“Not much,” I say, briefly filling her in on what I learned on our trip up the coast.
She exhales a relieved sigh when I’m done. “Well, that’s good news, right? I mean, the best news possible, in any event. He didn’t bang your mom and he’s willing to apologize to your dad. Not that it matters.” She wiggles her perfectly shaped brows. “When he asks permission to marry you, he’ll have to ask Gramps. That’s only right. Gramps is the one who put in the hard work raising you to be the magnificent woman you are today.”
I burst out laughing, then laugh harder at the annoyed expression on her face.
“What?” she asks. “What’s so funny? Don’t you want your forever guy to ask permission from your family?”
“No, and I wouldn’t have thought you would, either. You’re the most independent woman I know.”
She tucks her legs beneath her. “Well, yes, but I’m also a romantic. I think asking permission is romantic. And practical. I mean, better to know up-front if your lady’s family hates your guts, right?”
Her words send a pall over my dreamy, sex-obsessed thoughts. I already know Weaver’s family hates my family and vice versa. Even if I wanted happily ever after with a guy who makes me as nervous as he does turned-on, there’s no path forward for us.