Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
I want to say all I do is think about him. I want to say I can’t get enough of him. I want to say to take me home. Instead, I nip his jaw with my teeth, my eyes opening to stare into his bright blue ones. The eyes that haunt me during the day and then chase me all night long in my dreams. “I need you so bad,” I admit, pulling him to me to bite his lower lip. “So fucking bad.” I slide my lips onto his, my tongue slipping into his mouth as we swallow each other’s moans.
The sound of voices coming closer makes us both jump apart as if you just tossed ice water on us. But not too far, his hands never leave my hips, he grips them in his hands, making me not move. His eyes never leave mine as we hear someone right outside the door. “I think we went too far,” I hear a woman say. “It’s probably the other side.”
“We should get back,” I finally urge.
“They are probably looking for you.” He steps away from me, his hands falling off my hips.
My own hands flopping down beside me, I’m about to bend over and get my purse, but he beats me to it, holding it out for me. “Thank you,” I say, our fingers brushing each other. A shiver goes up my spine from just his fingers touching me.
“I’ll see you in there,” he states, and I nod, about to turn and walk out, but instead, I walk to him. I wipe his lips of my shiny lip gloss, which only makes him bend down again to kiss my lips.
I laugh. “I just cleaned your lips.”
He takes one more kiss from me. “If you don’t leave now, we aren’t going back in there and then we’ll be asked all sorts of questions.” Just the image of leaving with him sets my cheeks on fire. “That look isn’t helping,” he groans.
I get on my tippy-toes and kiss his neck, feeling how erratic his heart is beating. “See you out there,” I say before turning and walking out of the room. I close the door behind me, walking as fast as I can away from it before doing what I really want to do. Ask him to take me home.
eighteen
Caine
“Wasn’t last night an amazing success,” my mother declares from the other side of the table. “We should do this yearly.”
I groan at the same time Nash does. “No,” he quickly denies, “immediately no, Mom.”
The three of us sit at the table outside while my father pushes Meadow in the swing. They came over shortly after eleven this morning, and my mother prepared us all lunch, which we demolished not long ago. The only things on the table now are a couple of pieces of fruit. “We are not doing this yearly.” I reject the idea. Last night was good, but we can’t be doing this yearly. “I think maybe every five years.”
“Every five years,” my mother huffs. “Ernie,” she calls my father, “what do you think about doing a gala every single year?”
His head snaps toward us as he stops pushing Meadow. “Hillary.” All he does is say her name.
“What?” she says. “Was last night not a success?”
“Yes,” he confirms, turning back to Meadow, “but it was a success because maybe it’s our first one. Like beginner’s luck.” I roll my lips, trying not to laugh as I look over at Nash, who has his arms folded on the table’s edge and his head is looking down while his body shakes from laughing. “If we do it every year, people will be bored of it.” My mother leans back in the chair, thinking about what he is saying. “Think about all the events we go to during the year and all the times you tell me how boring they are and how annoyed you are with them.”
“Yes.” She swings her leg that crosses over her knee. “But this is different, I know how not to make it boring.”
“You didn’t even do anything for this one except foot the bill,” I remind her, leaning forward and plucking a grape from the bowl and popping it into my mouth. “Grace did all of that.”
“I thought it was a group effort.” My mother sits up straight.
“It was supposed to be, but her cousin Sofia was the event planner, and…” I trail off when Nash talks.
“It was supposed to be, but Caine pissed her off, so she was like ‘I’ll do it myself.’” Nash talks in a robot voice, then leans forward, grabbing a piece of pineapple.
“What do you mean, Caine pissed her off?” my father questions, walking up the two steps to the porch where the table is, somehow puffing out of breath.
“I was not pissing her off.” I try to defend myself as my father pulls out his chair and grabs a bottle of water.