Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
The long walk across the room draws bored eyes my way, my flats clacking loud enough along the linoleum to distract people from whatever they’re doing. I’m glad my top is breezy when I walk, keeping the airflow around my torso. I try to avoid being the center of attention, but my cheeks are already heating under the gaze of so many people waiting their turn.
I catch the way he looks me over when I get closer, but I’m sure he caught me doing the same to him. Jeans, again, and sneakers, another tee that’s seen a lot of years but fits him so well, and hands shoved in his pockets. I hate that my mind starts to wander right back to the wee hours when he kissed my inner thighs, then went higher. I can only imagine the real thing is even better.
“Hi,” he says, standing.
“Hi.”
We both lean in. Me thinking we’ll shake hands. Him opening his arms to embrace me. A jab to his stomach has him groaning. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry.” I scramble to cover the area I stabbed, but I’m met with muscles that I wouldn’t mind seeing closer. “You hide rocks under there?”
Oh my God, please stop, I beg of myself.
“Yeah, that was not appropriate,” I say, the words vomiting from my mouth. “I thought we were going in for a handshake.” Covering my forehead with my hand, I’m tempted to close my eyes to hide from him, but since he’s already seen me, I don’t think that will work in my favor.
I reach over to help with the pain, but he’s already got it covered, literally, with his hand. Taking a breath, he grins, but it’s not half as big as I hoped it would be when he saw me. I thought we had made great headway yesterday, and now I’ve gone and injured the man. “It’s okay,” he says, sitting down. “But I won’t make that mistake again.”
“No, don’t say that. Please. I’m so sorry. Please don’t not hug me.”
Chuckling, he asks, “Do you need a hug, Cate?”
It’s been a long time since I’ve been held in someone’s arms, so I don’t lie. “I kind of do.”
He stands, his hands taking hold of my arms. To keep me from stabbing him in the stomach again or to prepare me for what’s about to happen? I don’t know, but I stand still, so still that I don’t even breathe as he wraps his arms around me.
I didn’t expect him to do the dirty deed, but I’m never willingly leaving the warm embrace of his body. Not ever. I close my eyes, and the clean scent of his cologne and the way I get hints of him mixed in is intoxicating. Just as I melt against him, he releases me. I stumble but catch myself before he notices. Sitting back down, he pats the seat next to him. “I saved you a seat.”
I’m not eighteen, but he makes me feel just like I did at the bonfire after graduation—giddy and alive. He’s a dangerous combination that won’t last, so I can’t get sucked into the euphoria that is Shane Faris.
Sitting next to him, I set my purse on my lap, gripping it between my hands and hoping he can’t see me inwardly freaking out, or he’ll be running away like he did yesterday. This time, I’m sure he’d keep going. “Thanks,” I reply, playing it off with a sway of my wrist. When I look around, not one seat is available in the waiting area, making his gesture even sweeter.
Shane’s knee bumps into mine. “You know you don’t need to be nervous around me.”
“Pfft.” I wave him off. “I’m not. I’m always like this.” What am I saying?
“Anxious?”
He has a talent for throwing me off-kilter with his comments. There was all that “fucking” yesterday, and now he’s diagnosing me in the lobby of the Los Angeles County clerk’s office. “Um, that was not what I was going to say. The word particular fits better, or even responsible.”
His knee taps mine twice, willing me to watch the connection and hope it repeats. “Why not toss dependable in the mix?”
I start an eye roll but catch myself before giving him the satisfaction of reacting. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Dependable is a great adjective.”
“I say that because I can’t imagine life being so orderly.” He rests his arms forward on his legs, cupping his hands in front of him. “I live in twenty-four seven chaos.”
“I can’t imagine that. Sounds exhausting.”
He chuckles and scrubs his hands over his face, ending with a slide of his fingers through his hair. When he sits back, he spreads his legs like he intends to be here for a while. “It is.”
“Maybe you could use some order in your life?”