Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
He scrutinizes me. “I’ve never seen you like a guy this much.”
I send him a furtive look. “It’s just physical attraction.”
Maximoff gestures towards our bodyguards while he speaks. “Gawking at Thatcher, who looks like a six-foot-seven version of Jon Snow after he killed White Walkers and made friends with wildlings—that’s physical attraction. Liking when a guy calls you honey is…” He scrunches his face. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s not physical .”
“It’s verbal,” I point out. “Verbal communication comes from the tongue, which is in fact a physical appendage.”
He blinks and then stares off. “Tu as peut-être raison.” Maybe you’re right.
I smile. “Thatcher is also…” I catch myself before I blurt out, Thatcher is also good with his tongue in more physical ways.
I want to express how Thatcher’s otherworldly talents in bed are by far the best I’ve had between my legs. But roping Maximoff into this secret will complicate his life when he just uncomplicated it.
Sheltering these moments in my life from Moffy is so difficult. I have a giant urge to gush forth what’s happening. Just like he told me all about his first time sleeping with Farrow.
There are so few people I trust in the world, and since we learned to talk, Maximoff and I shared everything.
“Thatcher is also what?” Maximoff picks out a spiked brown leather jacket.
I try to recover. “He’s also exceptionally sweet.”
“Jesus, that is nowhere near physical attraction.” He motions to me. “You’re supposed to be light-years smarter than me.” He gives me a look like I’m acting strange.
I’m sweating beneath my pale yellow faux-fur vest. I try to smile, but it feels a little forced.
Maximoff can tell. “Everything okay?” He sets the leather jacket back and focuses on me.
“Fake dating is just complex, but not in a bad way.” I smile in thought. “It’s more stimulating, actually.”
Stimulating. Really, Jane? I suppose I could’ve chosen a more sexual word. At least I didn’t say erotic . I tie my wavy hair back into a low pony, my neck flushed.
Maximoff is in deeper thought, and he cracks a few knuckles.
I pull back my shoulders. Confidence. I can survive tiptoeing around this secret. “And I’d rather talk about you, old chap.”
He’s about to speak, but Thatcher and Farrow approach us as temp guards claim their positions.
Teenagers shriek outside the windows as our 24/7 bodyguards walk over to us. Cellphones braced at the glass, along with paparazzi’s professional cameras. Everyone takes such keen interest in Thatcher and Farrow, who do their best to ignore the extra attention.
I’m taking a very keen interest in Thatcher Moretti at the moment too.
As he nears, he’s only staring at me.
“Thatcher,” I greet, a smile playing at my lips.
“Jane,” he says huskily, looking into me with open-booked desire. In public.
It’s not only allowed, it’s encouraged .
My heartbeat accelerates to unknown, unquantifiable speeds, and as soon as I take one step closer to Thatcher, he’s already here.
His large hands clasp the back of my thighs, and my arms take flight around his broad shoulders. All in one seamless movement. He hoists me up and my legs wrap around him. Breath abandoning my body.
His hand travels in a boiling trail up my spine, and he pulls me into his muscular build with a deep, full kiss that I reciprocate in kind.
I run my fingers across his scruffy jaw, and as I catch my breath, my lips stinging, we both seem to register the onslaught of passionate squealing.
“JANE! THATCHER!!”
We’re not glancing in that direction just yet, and I whisper, “We’re selling this well.” Another small smile tugs my cheeks. “It’s like we’re partners in crime, you and I.”
Light touches his vigilant eyes, and his gaze drifts at the next wave of shrieking. More so to double-check the safety of the perimeter.
His attention returns to me, his seriousness never waning. He’s safety, the forceful gravity that grounds me, that helps stop me from rattling sideways inside a world that tries and tries to shake me.
Thatcher drops his voice to a deep whisper. “The team will love this.” He cups my cheek in affection before setting me on my feet, his hand pressed to the small of my back. “But not more than me.”
I go to speak, but flush has overtaken my face and my tongue is tied.
My eyes glimmer with so many questions and curiosities. I want to know every miniscule detail about Thatcher. I feel as though we’ve just started this exploration. We’ve just pressed play , and we keep hitting pause to draw this out longer.
As we near Maximoff and Farrow, Thatcher’s hand falls into mine like second-nature, having no hesitation at treating me like a real girlfriend for our fake relationship.
All of our heads turn as a girl outside shrieks bloody-murder, “MAKE LOVE TO ME, THATCHER MORETTI!”
It’s not so humorous. She can’t be older than a very young thirteen.