Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
“I apologize. I got a bit carried away.”
“It would seem so.” Her frown probably makes students tremble in fear, but I’m no student and I’ve held my own against much more formidable foes than a middle school math teacher.
“If you’ll excuse us, we’ll get back to the dance.” I take Riley’s hand, intending to lead her back to the gym, but that plan is thwarted too.
“Dad! Riley! There you are!” Grace’s voice echoes in the hall as she busts through the gym doors. A mere thirty seconds earlier and she would’ve discovered me and Riley kissing, so I shoot Mrs. Vanderfielder a glance of mild appreciation. She purses her lips judgmentally, and I change my gaze to something more akin to a warning to keep her mouth shut on what she saw.
Riley pulls her hand from mine as Grace tippy-tap runs up to us, apparently having found a way to be quick without falling in her heels, accompanied by her two new BFFs. “Bella’s mom said we can stay at her house tonight, so I’m going home with them. Okay? Please, please, please.” She clasps her hands beneath her chin and bats her lashes as she pleads.
Bella nods, encouraging me to agree to this new plan.
“You need an overnight bag,” I say, clicking into parenting mode in a blink.
Grace shakes her head. “Bella said me and Trinity can borrow T-shirts to sleep in. I’ll call you in the morning when I’m ready to come home.”
I haven’t said yes, but Grace is acting like I already have. Bella and Trinity are too, grinning widely.
Done with me and the presumed permission, Grace asks Riley, “Did you see me dance with Liam?” She stomps her feet and mimes screaming, her hands on her cheeks and mouth open wide. “It was iconic.”
“I thought you didn’t even like him?” Riley says, quoting Grace, I presume, given the tone and addition of a dramatic eye roll.
“Well, maybe a little,” Grace confesses. She holds her finger and thumb up a solid inch apart.
“More like a lot,” Trinity corrects. All three girls dissolve into giggles I don’t understand.
“No boys,” I declare, not liking the sound of this at all. “Especially the jerk who was rating girls on SnapChat.”
Grace sighs, acting like what I’ve said is the pinnacle of ridiculousness. “He wasn’t rating girls. Hannah asked him to and he said I was hot. That’s not the same thing, Dad.”
“Semantics,” I counter. “I don’t like that he called you ‘hot’. He should like you for your mind, and your spirit, and your heart.”
Even Riley is laughing now.
I know when I’m outnumbered, outmanned, and outwitted, so with a long-suffering sigh, I wave a hand. “Fine, you can go to Bella’s, but I need to talk to her mom first. Where is she?”
“By the punch,” Bella informs me. “I’ll show you.”
CAMERON
Leaning back against the kitchen counter, Riley asks, “Tea? Or something else?”
Given the teasing slant of her lips and the innuendo laced into the question, she knew exactly what I was doing by drinking whiskey the night Grace went to Hannah’s. I won’t make that same mistake again, both being incapacitated if Grace needs me and not taking advantage of an empty house.
“Tea.” The single word lets Riley know exactly where my head is at. The slow uptilt of her smile and dancing light in her eyes tells me she’s thinking the same thing.
“Coming right up.” She spins, giving me her back as she lifts to her toes to reach into the cabinet for her favorite mugs. I fall back, needing the counter’s support as I simply watch her, my eyes tracing down her spine, across her hips, over the fullness of her ass, and down to her now-bare feet. She’s still wearing the ivory dress, and my fingers itch to slide the zipper at her back down to reveal her skin.
Skin I want to touch, taste, experience.
“Riley.”
I’ve reverted to caveman grunts of a maximum of one word to communicate. But everything I’ve pent up is in the two syllables of her name—all the need, the denial, the hunger, the guilt, the hope.
“I know,” she says, glancing over her shoulder. But unswayed, she continues her task, filling the mugs with water and putting them in the microwave. “But you’re a thinker, an overthinker, actually, and you have a pros and cons list in your head that you’re still weighing out. There’s no need to rush into something you might regret.” Though she turns around, resting against the counter again, her eyes drop like she can’t meet my gaze and the few feet between us feel like a gaping canyon.
Confused, I scowl at her. “I won’t regret anything.”
She sighs heavily, the enormity of what we’re talking about nearly visible on her shoulders. “I don’t want you to regret me. I can handle this. I live in the moment, and while you are not something I take lightly, I can take the experience for what it is. I’m not sure you can, and I don’t know if we should risk what we have now for it, unless you’re sure.”