Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
“Told you I’d wipe the floor with you,” Talia declares.
The game finally ends with me penniless and grinning so hard it’s painful.
“Only ‘cause I let you, cupcake,” I tease right back, surprised at my own words. My voice is laced with the possessive darkness I’ve felt all night, and Talia’s breath visibly hitches in response. The air between us changes, charged suddenly. It lasts only a second, though, before Talia stands up and starts packing the game away.
I grab our plates, taking them to the kitchen to wash and tidy up the leftovers. When I’m done, I find Talia hovering by the sofas with a frown on her face.
“What’s wrong?”
“I just…um…there’s only one spare bed here, and I don’t want to kick you out of it,” she explains. “It was your room first after all.”
I have an easy solution to her concern. Like hell am I kicking Talia out of the bed. It’s hers now. “I’ll be just fine on the sofa, cupcake,” I reassure her, that stupid nickname slipping out again. It’s teasing, but considering her sweetness and apparent talent for baking, oddly fitting too. And she hasn’t told me to knock it off yet. In fact, she just smiles at me. Then her smile fades into a yawn, and I realize how late it is.
I make quick work of grabbing my bags out of her room and snagging some blankets from the laundry cupboard to make the sofa my new bed. I gather the plush cushion from the smaller sofa Talia sat on during our game to use as a pillow.
“Goodnight, Trey,” Talia calls out from the doorway, slipping out and heading up to her room.
“Goodnight.” I unashamedly watch her legs and ass in those torturous pajama shorts as she walks away.
The exhaustion I felt earlier after all the traveling hits me like a truck, and I fall asleep in minutes, surrounded by the scent of Talia’s cherry shampoo covering the pillow I’m lying on.
4
TALIA
Iwake up before my alarm, which is a rare occurrence for me. Still, I decide to make the most of the extra time my body clock has allowed me today, and actually make what I want for breakfast rather than just shoveling a bowl of cereal into my face before I rush out the door for my volunteer shift like usual.
I’m craving waffles, and the second I’m dressed in comfy leggings and a pale pink t-shirt and have wrangled my hair into a ponytail, I bounce down the stairs to make them. Even though I still need to go grocery shopping, I always make sure my kitchen is stocked with baking supplies. Sure, this isn’t my kitchen, it’s my Mom’s, but since I’m staying here over the summer, I’ve claimed it as mine anyway.
I stop short at the door to the lounge and kitchen. I thought Trey would be up before me, but nope. He’s sound asleep on the sofa, tucked up because he’s too tall to stretch out completely. I fight the urge to stand and watch him sleep like some sort of creep. Instead, I rush past him to the kitchen, trying to keep my footsteps as light as possible so I don’t disturb him.
I get to work, gathering everything I need to make breakfast, figuring it’ll be a nice gesture for him to wake up to a homemade meal. Besides, I always make too much batter for just me anyway and end up having way more waffles than one person could possibly eat by themselves.
Before I start mixing ingredients, I need coffee.
With my cup in hand, taking tiny sips so I don’t burn my tongue, I’m about to start whisking everything together. But a sleepy, husky voice stops me short.
“Talia.”
Coffee sloshes over the edge of my mug, and I set it down in a rush, grabbing a paper towel to wipe up the mess. I turn around hurriedly, hoping Trey hasn’t just watched me make a complete fool of myself.
Except, when I try to greet him, he’s not there. I’m sure I heard him say my name. Confused, my brows furrow and I take a step forward, pushing up on my tiptoes so I can peer over the back of the sofa he’s asleep on.
Sure enough, he’s still there, tangled in a blanket with his eyes closed.
“Talia,” he groans, and I bite my lip to hide my gasp as he says my name again. This time, it comes out rougher, darker, needier.
Oh. Dear. God.
Heat rushes through me like I’ve been set on fire, all thoughts of waffles crushed as all of my focus hones in on Trey. There’s still space between us. I haven’t left the kitchen, but somehow the room feels much smaller than it did before.
Surely, he can’t be dreaming of me, right? But he did say my name. Twice. And the way he said it, like he was groaning it in my ear from above, like it was a plea and a praise all at once.