Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 116028 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116028 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Clapping happily, she does a few spins, her blonde hair whipping around her slender body. She punctuates the excited dance with a little jump where she kicks out both legs and then lands directly on the tips of her bare toes.
“Whoa,” I blurt, genuinely impressed. “Where’d you learn to do that?”
“I took six years of ballet.” She marches to the chair and picks up the first garment bag.
Right, I remember she’d mentioned ballet had been one of her interests. “Didn’t stick with it, eh?”
“I told you, I get bored easily.” She unzips the bag and extracts a hanger that holds a…
Gray sweater.
“It’s a fucking gray sweater,” I accuse. “You know, like the one hanging five feet away from us? The one you were just criticizing?”
“First of all, it’s not gray. It’s slate—”
“It’s gray.”
“Second of all, it’s Tom Ford—is the one in your closet Tom Ford? I didn’t think so. Third of all, shut up and come touch this.”
I’m scared she’ll smack me if I don’t, so I do what the lady orders. I can’t help but whistle as my fingers encounter the softest wool I’ve ever felt. “It’s nice,” I relent.
“Perfect, so we’ll try it over this…” She checks the second hanger. “Oooh, over this Saint Laurent shirt. Actually, no… You know what? I don’t think we even need a shirt underneath. I feel like the sweater might be thick enough that your nips won’t show. We’ll pair it with these trousers. Turn around.”
“Why?”
“I want to see your butt.”
“No,” I say indignantly.
“Turn around.”
I turn around because I don’t feel like losing another argument, but I throw in a silky reply just to unnerve her. “Do you like what you see? You can give it a squeeze if you want.”
She makes a squeaky noise. “Are you flirting? That’s highly inappropriate.”
“Says the woman staring longingly at my ass.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” she replies, but I don’t miss the breathy note in her voice. “Okay. We’ll try the trousers, but Noah Billings’ butt isn’t as muscular as yours. These might show off a little too much ass.”
“Is there such a thing?” I ask solemnly.
Summer grins. “Touché. All right. Let’s see how this looks.”
I’m about to remove my shirt, when I realize she’s still standing there watching me. “What, I don’t get any privacy?”
“You’re just taking your shirt off. It’s not like you’re getting naked.”
Yes, but it still feels kind of…intimate. I shrug the thought away. If we were at the beach, I’d have no qualms going bare-chested. I’m being a pussy right now.
I peel my T-shirt over my head.
Summer’s green eyes widen. Appreciation heats her expression, and damned if that doesn’t inflate my ego like a helium balloon. It only gets bigger when she lets out a breathy noise that speaks directly to my dick.
“I love your tattoos,” she informs me.
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh.”
Her gaze is glued to my naked torso. Holy shit, if she keeps looking at me like that, I might not be able to stop myself from touching her. It’s already been a Herculean effort for me to draw her every night without giving in to every carnal urge that’s begging me to fuck her.
But I can’t. Not unless she makes the first move. I already blew my chance thanks to my behavior on New Year’s. My hypercritical words had hurt her, and just because she’d accepted my apology doesn’t mean I can assume she’s into me now. The fact that she referred to us as “best friends” is probably a good indication of where I stand.
I’ve been friend-zoned.
“Permission to approach the chest?”
A hasty laugh pops out. “Permission granted?”
She steps forward for a closer examination of the ink on my arms and chest. “Did you design these yourself?”
“Yeah.”
“My God, Fitz. You’re so good.”
Embarrassment creeps up my throat. I don’t take compliments well. Never have. So I make a noncommittal sound that hopefully she interprets as a thank you.
“You’re really into the fantasy imagery, huh?” She focuses on my left biceps. “This sword is badass. Is it based on Sir Nornan’s glass sword in The Glass Forest? No, wait, the sword doesn’t show up until the third book.”
“Weeping Devils,” I confirm, naming another title in the Shifting Winds series. Nerves make me pause, because I don’t want to rock the boat again. “Which one is your favorite?” I quickly add, “It’s not a trick question, I promise. I know you read them.”
“If you want to get technical, I didn’t read them—I listened to the audiobooks. I’m obsessed with audiobooks,” she reveals. “And to answer your question, I’d have to go with the first book. First book is always the best.”
“Agreed.”
She touches something on my shoulder. “Ohhh, this is so pretty. This cluster of roses.” Her impish gaze lifts to mine. “Not very manly,” she teases.
I’m too distracted to respond or take offense, because her fingertips are still tracing my bare flesh. Air gets trapped in my throat. The sweet scent of her shampoo tickles my nose, along with a hint of her signature perfume.