Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 105175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
“Ahem.”
A voice clears comically behind us, and James breaks the kiss. We turn in sync to find Ellie standing with her hands on her hips. She’s wearing a smug smile as she asks, “Isn’t PDA against club rules?”
James smiles. “Since when do any of us follow the rules?”
She delivers an exaggerated eye roll before stepping forward and holding up her keys. “Brooke, if you’re coming home with me, I’m leaving.”
“Oh, right. Yeah…” I look back at James. “I should probably go with her, right?” I ask.
“Probably,” he answers with a telling smile. “But I’d rather you didn’t.”
That smile is dangerous. A girl could be convinced to do just about anything with a smile like that.
“I don’t have any of my stuff,” I point out.
“You have everything you need,” he responds with a telling smile while his fingers trace slow circles along my spine.
“Yoohoooo, can you two freaks work this out later?” Ellie asks, interrupting our moment. “My shift is over and I want to get the hell out of here.”
I pinch my eyes closed and try to stifle a laugh. “I can’t believe I’m saying this right now, but—I’m going to go home with Ellie. It’s been a wild few days—I’ve barely slept, and I’ve been on a rollercoaster ride of emotions. I need a moment to catch my breath. I’m so happy and excited and grateful and I just want to make sure we don’t screw this up and IwantyoutoknowthatIwanttogohomewithyousobadbut—”
“Slow down, Brooke,” he says, putting a finger up to my lips with a laugh. “Let’s get lunch tomorrow.”
I smile and step back. “Okay. It’s a date.”
…
James insists that he wants to eat at home the next day, and anyone with half a brain could guess his motive. Why doesn’t he just say he wants to eat lunch in his bed, under the covers, naked? Cut out all the pretense, right? Beth clears his schedule for the rest of the afternoon, and I arrive at his house by Uber at noon on the dot. When he sweeps the door open, he’s wearing jeans and a soft cotton t-shirt. The look is so simple and sexy that I nearly melt. Instead, I hold out the loaf of banana bread I baked with Martha this morning. He glances down at it and groans in appreciation.
“It’s her secret recipe,” I brag as he drags me inside by my hips. “She adds canned pineapple, which sounds odd, but I swear it’s the best thing you’ll ever taste!”
He takes it out of my hand, sets it on the side table beside the door, and yanks me against him.
“I guess you really like banana bread?” I tease before he tilts his head down and steals a kiss.
I close my eyes and let myself revel in the feeling of being in his arms again. I wasn’t sure if I’d played up how good of a kisser he was in my mind over the last year and a half, but now I know for a fact his skills weren’t embellished by time and distance. The man is lethal. He sweeps me up and kisses me so passionately I become a mess of aching desire, half-convinced we should just get it on right here—his scratchy welcome mat is as good a place as any. Then something familiar catches my attention over his shoulder and I tear my mouth from his.
“My bike!”
“Your bike?” he teases, following my gaze. “I thought you gave it back to me.”
I step out of his grasp so I can move closer and run my hand along the handlebars. Then, it hits me. I spin back around to him. “Isn’t this the same spot where you left it that day?”
He nods and glances away, down the hall. “I couldn’t move it.”
Oh.
Regret socks me in the stomach yet again.
“I’m sorry,” I say on a soft whisper.
He glances back to me, and I’m surprised to see the residual hurt left in his gaze. Before, he would have tried to hide it, but not now, not if we’re going to try to move on. He extends his hand to me.
“C’mon, let’s go order lunch.”
Not much has changed around his house since before I left. There’s no new furniture or décor, and he’s still using paper plates and Solo cups. I can’t let it go on for another second, so while we wait on our Chinese food to arrive, I force him to unpack the dishes he’s kept stowed away in his cabinets for too long.
I am surprised to find Harry the goldfish swimming around on his kitchen island. James has upgraded his original tank, and now he’s basically swimming in a fishy paradise.
I beam and turn toward James. “You kept him.”
He shrugs. “Of course. What else was I going to do? He’s my fish.”
“Wait—you didn’t pull the classic kids movie gag, did you? Where the fish died months ago and you just replaced him with one that looks the exact same?”