Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
“That is good, I have to admit. Every woman on earth knows who Andie Anderson is . . . and wants to be her. They also want a Benjamin.”
He gives me a slow, sexy smile.
I keep reading.
Qualities: Fun loving.
Interested in: Margarita-loving people.
“Wait a minute, is this aimed at . . .”
“Who doesn’t love a good margarita?”
I smile and keep reading.
Favorite Pastime: Ripping the nets off those slutty oranges.
Huh? I get a vision of how you have to tear the oranges out of their bag, and I throw my head back and laugh out loud. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly.” He laughs too. “You got to admit, they’re begging for it. Tearing off those net bags is the highlight of my life.”
This is the funniest thing I’ve ever read, and I can’t stop laughing. It’s so true. Tearing the nets off oranges is just like tearing off fishnet stockings.
“Those slutty oranges . . .”
“Right.” He widens his eyes. “Begging for it.”
No wonder every woman wants to meet him. He has no profile picture, he’s not loving himself, and his answers are all intelligent, witty, and funny. And then when he walks into the date . . . their jaws must fall to the floor because they realize they’ve hit the jackpot.
He pulls out his phone. “Let me read yours.”
“No.” I try to grab his phone from him. “Mine seems so lame now.”
“You could never be lame.” He swipes on me and frowns when he reads my heading.
Looking for someone to stay young with.
His eyes rise to meet mine. “Why that answer?”
“Well . . .” I shrug. “Everyone always says they are looking for someone to grow old with.”
His eyes hold mine. “But not you?”
“I want someone to stay young with.”
He goes back to reading.
Interested in: Honesty.
Favorite pastime: Laughing.
He smiles as he reads and casually reaches over and picks up my hand and puts it on his thigh.
I feel his thick quad muscle beneath my hand, and I hold my breath as I watch him read my profile.
Hoping for: A fairy tale.
His brow furrows as he reads the last line, and he puts his phone down. His eyes rise to meet mine. “We have something in common.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m looking for a fairy tale too.”
We stare at each other as the air crackles between us, and this is probably premature, but I get the feeling that this is going to be the best date of my life.
“I don’t need to wait for the tiramisu,” he whispers.
My eyes search his as my heart free-falls from my chest.
In slow motion, he leans over and kisses me, his lips barely brushing over mine, and huge butterflies swirl deep in my stomach.
Oh . . .
“Why not?” I whisper against his lips.
“Because . . . I already know.”
Five hours later
The cab pulls onto Kingston Lane. “Just the white house on the left,” Blake directs the driver. The street is dark and deserted, unlike my heart. For I am bright and full.
What a magical night. We laughed until my sides hurt.
He kissed me once at dinner, but not again since, and to be honest, I feel like I’ve been waiting for his next kiss all night.
But maybe that’s his game. Maybe this is all part of his grand plan.
Give me a taste . . . and then take it away.
And now that we’re here, arriving at home, I’m suddenly nervous again. What happens now? Does he kiss me goodbye?
Do I invite him in for coffee?
What is expected in this situation? I’m just not sure . . .
God, I hate dating. I hate not knowing what’s going to happen next.
The car pulls up at my house, and I gingerly climb out. Blake pays the driver and walks with me up onto my porch.
“So . . .”
He turns to face me. “So . . .”
We stare at each other, and it’s there again, the electricity bouncing between us.
A force so strong and foreign to me.
I’ve never felt it before.
I smile softly. “I had a great time.”
“Me too.”
I get the feeling that he’s as nervous as I am.
“Um . . .” I frown as I try to articulate my feelings. “I was wondering.”
“What?” His eyes search mine, and I know that he wants me to invite him in.
“I . . .” I swallow the lump of sand in my throat. “Can we . . . take things a little slow?”
He nods. “Okay.” He steps back from me as if I’m rejecting him.
I take his two hands in mine. “I just want to . . .” I shrug as I look out into the street. “I really want this to work out.”
“Me too.”
“And I haven’t . . .”
“I know.”
My eyes search his. “I’ve been waiting for you to kiss me again all night.”
He gives me a slow, sexy smile and takes my face in his hands. “It nearly killed me not to.” His lips take mine, and he kisses me softly. He towers over me, and his large stature emits power.