Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
“I love it!” Lindsey said.
“Thank you,” I answered. “I promise I’ll take good care of them.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She shrugged off my anxiety. “Just have fun.”
I let myself out of my boss’s house, scanning the clearing until I found the first white blaze. The sun was going down, and I knew I had to hurry before I lost the light. The path was well-defined, clear of any rocks or sticks and straight as it could possibly be. There was one tough climb to the top of a hill, and then the rest of the hike was downhill to Macy’s cabin. By the time I got to one painted tree, I could see the next, so there was no danger of getting lost.
My temporary home appeared before I knew it, and I climbed the porch steps to knock on the door. Macy answered it and waved me in, revealing the entire family at the dinner table.
“You look great!” Macy said enthusiastically.
“You have another date?” Dillon asked.
I nodded.
“Will you be here in the morning?” Nicky asked.
I blushed. “I think so.”
“Well, go on.” Macy put her keys in my hand. “You don’t want to be late.”
I kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”
“Let us know if you need help,” Dillon said before turning back to his children. He was always prioritizing our safety and it was nice.
I nodded, slipping out the door and out into the driveway. I climbed into Macy’s car and started the engine. It was rapidly becoming apparent that I would need to get my own ride. I wasn’t sure I would have enough money to get a car and an apartment. The more money I needed to save, the longer it meant I would have to camp out in Macy’s laundry room.
I didn’t want to think about that tonight, however. Tonight was for reconnecting with Mike. I would see if there was really something there, or if I had just become obsessed with a fantasy. I pulled into the parking lot at exactly eight o’clock. Grabbing my purse and shutting off the engine, I climbed out. Mike was there, waiting outside for me. I walked toward him on high heels, in my expensive tennis skirt, feeling like a million bucks.
He was dressed casually in jeans and a button-down shirt, open at the collar. He kissed me without pretext, not as hungry as before, but friendly and gentle. I reciprocated, allowing it to go as far as it needed to go. The brush of another couple entering the bar brought us out of our trance. Mike held the door open, and I slipped through it. Suddenly, this small-town night spot seemed more romantic than the French Riviera. Mike scouted one open table in the back and led me to it. There was a live country band playing on a small stage in the corner, and people were packed in, drinking and dancing.
“Do you want to dance?” I asked him.
“Maybe later,” he said. “Have you eaten?”
I shook my head.
“Let’s have dinner first,” he decided with a wink. “I’m afraid my dancing won’t impress you.”
I laughed. He didn’t have to worry about impressing me, I realized. I was already impressed. We sat for a moment in silence, and then we both began speaking at once.
“I want to—” he said.
“I think I should—” I began.
We both broke off, laughing.
“You first,” he said.
“No,” I argued.
“I know you said you were looking for a one-night stand,” he spilled his heart out, “but I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“Me too,” I breathed.
“This doesn’t have to be anything more than a second date,” he said hurriedly.
“Right,” I agreed. We could take it easy and not make a big deal out of it.
“We don’t have to rush,” he added.
My heart skipped a beat. I had been wondering how I felt about another mad dash to his house, whether that was what I wanted or not. The truth was, I just wanted to talk to him, to get to know him better. And if what he said was true, we could always meet up for sex later. I felt both relaxed and energized when the waitress came to take our order.
“What’ll you have?” the woman asked, pen in hand.
I ordered a chicken wrap, something that would tide me over for the night but not make me feel full. Mike ordered fish and chips, claiming that it was the beer making him crave fried foods.
“We’ll have two oyster shooters too,” he said before the waitress left. “Have you ever had one?”
I shook my head.
“They’re hot and slimy,” he laughed.
I hesitated. “I’m not sure if I want to eat one, then.”
“Just trust me, it’s delicious.”
The waitress returned to refill our drinks and set two shot glasses down in the center of the table. Each one was full of a red sauce, with a hint of white oyster soaking in the bottom. Mike picked them both up and offered one to me.