Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
We must have looked weird together. Him, all ease and smiles. Me, all tension and glares.
Not that we were together, or that I was thinking about what other people thought about the possibility of us being together.
It was just a thought that crossed my mind while he had conversations with strangers as if they were all old buddies while I stood back, arms crossed, squinting at them.
I had to admit to myself that his company had actually not been hellish. If anything, he made the long drive a lot more tolerable. With his awful singing of endless pop songs I was pretty sure I’d never even heard, to the way he drew me into conversations, but backed off when it was clear I didn’t want to discuss a certain topic.
I’d never had someone along for a long ride with me. Not even my father when he was alive. Considering his profession, he actually didn’t drive. He hated being more than a few blocks from our house. We’d never really gone anywhere. And when I’d wanted to learn to drive, he had to find a driving school for me.
True, he’d found and fixed up a car for me once I got my license, but he refused to get inside of it with me.
Just one of his quirks.
But, yeah, the hours passed much more quickly with someone around.
Though, I had to admit, I was feeling weird about the motel room.
I knew there really wasn’t much of a choice in the matter. The next closest motel or hotel was another thirty minutes away. And I was exhausted, my vision a little blurry from watching the road for so long.
Besides, I was a grown-ass adult.
I’d slept with men before, I could damn sure sleep in the same room with a man for one night.
I had my dogs.
And I would grab my gun before I went to bed.
There was nothing to be worried about.
I mean, to be fair, it wasn’t worry about him putting his hands on me. Not really. Because he’d had the whole day to pull something, but didn’t. Aside from throwing his arm over my shoulder at the motel front desk, he’d kept his hands off of me as a whole.
The problem was… some part of me maybe… wouldn’t exactly resist if he, you know, decided that he would be interested in putting hands on me. That part of me might even lean into it, beg for more of it.
The sigh that escaped me had Samantha jerking awake, looking at me with sleep-confused eyes, before she decided I was alright, and fell back to sleep.
It wasn’t personal.
It was… proximal.
He was close.
I’d been starved of human contact for, shit, I didn’t even know. How many jobs had I taken since I’d last been with a guy? Four? Six? And most jobs took months to work on.
So, the math was mathing, and it was saying that it had been too damn long.
No wonder my belly had been a bit wobbly when I’d felt the weight of his arm crash down on me, when I’d been close enough to catch the faint scent of his soap or cologne. Subtle, not overpowering, just how I liked it.
I rested back on the bed, closing my tired eyes, but on the backs of my lids were all sweaty, naked, sordid images of all the things a womanizer like Sway could do with a woman, with me.
They sprang back open, and I let out another sigh that had Samantha letting out a grumble.
“You think you have it bad,” I said, patting her belly. “Try sharing a room with a handsome boy dog,” I said. But then again, I had no idea if the mating drive was still there after you spayed a dog, so maybe she would never have those sorts of feelings.
Then, like I’d conjured him, the door opened, and in he walked.
There was no stopping the moan that escaped me. But it was entirely because of the smells of food that were quickly filling up the room.
Still, that didn’t mean that Sway didn’t hear it, didn’t momentarily correlate it to something else, judging by the way he froze mid-stride, how his gaze cut to mine.
“Food,” I said, rolling up off the bed.
“Right,” he said, shaking his head as he turned away. “Food.”
Forty minutes later, we were two episodes into some old sitcom rerun, but I felt Sway’s gaze on me, not the TV.
“What?” I asked, a piece of pizza half raised to my lips.
“I’ve never seen someone put away that much food before,” he said. “And I live with a bunch of guys,” he added. “It’s kind of hot,” he told me.
“Living with guys?” I asked, intentionally trying to misunderstand because the words and the look in his eye was making a different kind of hunger start growing inside me.