Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 98134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“With the waterbed, right?”
I grin. “Yeah. That one. Feel free to take a nap on it if I’m not back when you’re done. I’ll come get you once I’m back with the food. Any requests?”
“Surprise me!” She pops up from the chair, stretches with her arms behind her head in a way that makes her dress ride up until I’d almost be able to see her panties if she hadn’t been wearing those damn wool leggings. Actually, I should be thanking God for those leggings, because I’m not sure I could keep my impulse to push my luck with Andi if I was any more tempted than I already am. With any other girl, I’d think she was doing all this on purpose–taunting me with her body and her sexuality.
With Andi, though, I don’t think that’s what it is. She has the energy of a golden retriever on steroids–like a rogue beam of sunshine that’s almost too blinding to look at but too captivating to take my eyes away from.
“This way?” she asks, pointing in the completely wrong direction.
“That way,” I say. I pause. “Actually, you could just use the guest house shower. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“That’s okay. I’ll use yours. I want to give that water bed a test drive.” She winks and walks off down the hallway toward my room.
I try not to, but I definitely watch the full shape of her ass as the fabric of her dress shifts up and down. She doesn’t look, but it’s almost as if she can sense me staring. She starts swaying her hips in an exaggerated, playful impression of a catwalk. It pushes past sexy and goes straight to comical, especially when she plants a hand on the door frame, drags it down, and then shoots me a smoky glare.
She backs into my room, then pokes her head out and twinkles her fingers before pulling the door shut.
I’m left standing at the end of the hallway with an extremely confused erection and a pounding heart. Suddenly, the idea of Jake showing up and threatening to murder me in cold blood if I so much as look at his sister doesn’t sound so bad. It honestly sounds like one of the few things that might just save me from my stupid heart trying to act like it’s not still torn in half.
7
ANDI
Whoever decided water beds needed to go extinct after the 80’s should be brought in for questioning.
I’m lying on my back, eyes closed, and it feels like I’m riding a cool wave. The bed ripples beneath me every time I shift or wiggle, and it might as well be rocking me to sleep like a freaking baby.
I still need to get up and get dressed–I’m just in my towel from the shower because I was too excited to try this bed out. I can’t seem to motivate myself to get up, though.
I lay there, thinking about how wild my last two days have been. Yesterday morning, I was trying to convince myself this was the beginning of the most important day of my life. Oddly enough, I’m not even sure I was wrong. After all, it was the day I decided to stop being satisfied with “good enough”. Yesterday, I decided I want my life to be great. I want it to be so awesome I’m afraid to blink because I might miss something.
And so far? I’m about twenty-four hours into this new life philosophy and I’m already floating on an NHL player’s waterbed like Jasmine on a magic carpet ride. Although, I guess if Jasmine had been wearing nothing but a towel, that movie would’ve gone in an entirely different direction.
I smile, even though my face is squished into the pillow. Jesse’s pillow. The thought creeps up on me, and then I start noticing how the entire bed smells like him. Like faint, very nice man smell. It’s the sort of scent I want to bottle and take whiffs of–hypothetically speaking, of course, because that would be super weird if I really wanted to do that. Okay, I definitely wish I could do that, even if it would be weird.
I’m freestyling a dirty version of A Whole New World when Jesse walks in. “I could show you my beaver,” I’m singing, voice badly muffled by the pillow my face is buried in.
“Uh,” Jesse’s deep voice startles me, so I roll my face to the side and see him in the doorway, crinkled paper take-out bags in hand. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“I was, well,” I try to think of how to explain that I was just modifying a beloved children’s song because I have the maturity level of an unripened banana and thought it was hilarious. “This bed is great,” I say instead.