Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Twenty
Stella
“I can’t even believe there’s any left. I thought for sure you’d have eaten the rest of this for breakfast yesterday.”
I scooped up another bite of apple pie. It was still delicious, even chilled and two days old. Or maybe it was just that anything was going to taste good sitting on his lap in the kitchen at two in the morning, wearing nothing but the button-down shirt he’d had on at dinner while he wore nothing but jeans.
“Believe me, I thought about it.” He reached onto the pie plate and grabbed a stray piece of crust. “But this one isn’t going to last much longer. I’m afraid you’re going to have to bake me another.”
I laughed and fed him a bite. “I’m not going to have time. These things take all day. I’m supposed to leave tomorrow—or is it today? I can’t believe how late it is.”
“Supposed to?” he asked. “Does that mean there’s a chance you could stay longer?”
I thought for a second. Did I have anything I really couldn’t miss this weekend? “I guess I could stay through the weekend. I’m supposed to have brunch with my sister on Sunday, but she’d probably understand if I canceled.”
“Good. Cancel it.”
I elbowed his ribs. “You just want another pie.”
“I just want more time with you.”
A shiver stole up my spine and cascaded down my arms. I looked at him to see if he was joking, but it didn’t seem like it. “Okay. I’ll call her.”
“Will she be upset?”
“Well, I’ve been promising to help her with the seating chart for her wedding, so she might be annoyed that I’m not around to listen to her complain about how hard it is that certain relatives aren’t speaking to one another, or so-and-so can’t sit with what’s-her-name because of a divorce, or why Nate’s office friend couldn’t just get a plus-one and make it an even number at that table.”
Ryan started snoring, eyes closed.
“I know,” I said, laughing, “but she’s a wedding planner so she takes all this very seriously. Plus she’s pregnant, so she’s extra emotional.”
“So what you’re saying is that I’m actually doing you a favor by convincing you to stay longer.”
“Possibly. I should at least talk to her though. Make sure it’s okay.”
He pinched my thigh. “I will allow you a phone call.”
“Just one?”
“Just one. Beyond that, I’m gonna need more pie.” He began to unbutton the shirt I wore. “Or more you.”
I set the fork inside the empty pie plate and swiveled so that I faced him, one leg on either side of the chair. “I don’t come with butter and brown sugar crumble topping.”
His hands slid beneath the shirt. “You don’t need it.”
Our insatiable lips found each others’ again. I wound my arms around his neck, feeling more confident and less self-conscious with every passing moment. This was so easy with him. It didn’t seem fair that we lived so far apart—but at least I’d have a little more time here.
Although the real problem wasn’t the distance, was it? It was the fact that we wanted different things in the future. What would be the point of continuing this thing beyond Sunday? He liked me, but he liked living alone more. I was a temporary distraction. A diversion. Emme was right—harboring illusions about a future together would only lead to a broken heart.
And I wasn’t the kind of woman who thought she could change a man. I’d never seen that kind of relationship play out successfully. Usually, she started to resent the fact that she was doing everything possible to turn him into her vision of what he should be, and he stubbornly refused to change because he didn’t want to be someone else. And he’d told her that from the start.
No. I would not be that woman.
I wouldn’t fall for this man, who’d told me in plain English that he didn’t date, liked living alone, and never planned to get married or have a family. Talk about setting myself up for disappointment! Nope, I would enjoy the bonus weekend of my fuck fling, look at the whole thing as a wonderfully sensual experience that upped my sex drive and self-esteem, and do my best to remain as emotionally detached as he was.
“Hey,” he whispered, his hands squeezing my waist. “Do you want to stay the night? I was going to walk you home after we ate dessert, but now it’s pouring rain.”
Rain? There hadn’t been any rain in the forecast. I picked up my head and listened. I didn’t hear a thing.
“See? It’s bad out there,” he went on, rubbing his stubbled jaw against mine. “Better stay here with me.”
I smiled. “You’re as bad as Grams, making stuff up.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m only trying to protect you by keeping you close to me.”