Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
“Is this your dream job?”
I laughed. “I don’t know if I have a dream job.”
“Sure, you do. What would you do if money were no object, if your bills were paid and all you had to do was fill your time?”
A long moment passed before I found the words to answer.
“I don’t know.”
It was the most painful admission, one I was surprised I made. It dredged up the embarrassment I’d felt when I admitted that to James when we were together, how he’d judged me for it even before I realized that’s what he was doing.
People like him, like Vince, didn’t understand what it was like to not be born knowing exactly what you wanted to do with your entire life.
“My parents, they’ve always known their path,” I said. “They were in AmeriCorps together, shaping communities for the better. They dedicated an entire decade of their life after college before they got out and started making a life of their own. Now, Mom works with a women’s shelter, and Dad builds houses in communities where owning a home seems more like a pipe dream than a reality within reach. They brought me up with those same values, and I want to give back. I want to make Tampa, and the world, better.”
“But?”
I hated that he knew there was a but, and I was glad to be facing away from him, to not have those hazel eyes peering into mine when I answered.
“But I don’t necessarily love it the way they do. Don’t get me wrong,” I said hurriedly. “I enjoy giving back, I do. I love feeling connected to people, and making them feel valuable, worthwhile — reminding them they’re not alone. It’s just… I don’t know. I guess I just wish I had the same passion for it. I wish it fueled me the way it fuels my parents.” I paused. “You should have seen their faces when I told them I didn’t want to go into the Peace Corps. I think a small part of them died that day.”
“Does anything fuel you that way?” Vince asked.
I let out a long exhale, my heart squeezing. It felt so foolish to say the answer to that out loud. Because when I thought of what made me feel passionate, it was creating content — editing videos, getting the perfect photograph, creating presets that, in turn, create an entire vibe. I loved writing captions. I loved making something that went viral, that reached millions of people worldwide.
Right now, it was Vince Tanev and the Tampa Ospreys and hockey.
But maybe one day, it could be more.
Instead of saying any of that, I just shrugged.
Vince’s grip on me softened. “You don’t have to have it all figured out right now, you know?”
I nodded, but refrained from pointing out that he had it all figured out, and he was younger than me.
“What you do need,” he continued, moving to massage my neck again. “Is to relax.”
“Says the perfectionist.”
But my joke was cut short because Vince moved his hands from my neck into my hair, massaging the base of my skull.
I moaned, melting.
If his hands on my shoulders weren’t already enough to unravel me, feeling those massive fingers cradle my skull and massage my scalp was enough to make me spontaneously combust.
I couldn’t help but lean into the touch.
And in the process, my ass brushed against him, our skin connecting underwater and sparking an impossible fire.
Time stopped, Vince pausing only a moment before his hands were working again. I thought I heard him swallow, thought I heard his next breath come a bit more labored.
I didn’t pull away.
My heart thumped loud in my ears as we stayed like that, connected both with his hands in my hair and his thigh just barely brushing the bare skin of my ass. And when his hands moved down, fingertips gliding over my shoulders before disappearing under the water, I felt him grow hard behind me, his erection pressing into the small of my back.
And still, I didn’t pull away.
Those fingertips danced down the span of my arms, gliding back up before they were on my back. He touched me so softly it was almost like he wasn’t touching me at all, and yet I couldn’t let out the breath lodged in my throat.
He nuzzled the space behind my ear with the tip of his nose as his hands slid down lower, fingertips drawing a circle around the dimples at the small of my back. They found my hips next, pulling me flush against him, letting me feel what I did to him.
His breath was in my ear, louder now, more unsteady. He didn’t say a word as his fingers skated over the slim band of my thong, and then one hand pressed against my stomach as the other traveled farther up. Just the tip of one finger slipped beneath the band of my bra, and his cock twitched against my back.