Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 99012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Christian’s eyes drifted up and down my body. “You look beautiful. But you might want to put pants on.”
I sighed and stepped aside. “I knew I was overdressed. Come in. I need to change. And I’m warning you, it’ll probably be more than once.”
Christian looked around my tiny apartment, stopping at the couch, which had a pile of clothes strewn all over it, most of which still had tags on it from my shopping trip.
“I take it this isn’t the first wardrobe change you’ve made.”
“Comfy clothes covers a wide spectrum of options.”
“Do you have any of those yoga pants women wear to exercise?”
“I do. Is that what’s appropriate for today?”
Christian shrugged. “They’ll work. Plus, I’d like to see your ass in them.”
I chuckled. “Let me see what I can do.” I walked over to my dresser and opened the drawer where I kept my rarely used exercise clothes while Christian looked around.
He peered down at the bookshelf. “What are all these?”
“Those are antique metronomes. I collect them.”
“The timing things musicians use to stay on tempo?”
“Yep.”
“Do you play an instrument?”
I shook my head. “Not since high school. When I lived at the shelter, I played in the orchestra, and my teacher gave us each a metronome to use when we practiced. She said learning to play while it clicked was good training for following the hands of a conductor. I didn’t really use it for practicing, but the clicking sound had a way of relaxing me. After my mom’s death, I struggled with panic attacks a lot, and I found that putting the metronome on, and focusing on it, was soothing. One day I passed an antique store and saw one in the window. I went in and bought it, and that started me collecting old metronomes, I guess.”
Christian flicked the switch on one, and the rhythmic clicking started. He kept it on for about ten seconds before turning it off. “That would drive me fucking nuts.”
I laughed. “Miller says the same thing.”
I held up a pair of Lululemon leggings, a cropped top, and a zip-up matching jacket. “Is this good?”
He grinned. “Definitely. That’s sexy as shit. I can’t wait to see it on you.”
“But is it also appropriate for where we’re going? Better yet, why don’t you tell me where we’re going since I’m going to find out soon anyway. Then I can make an informed decision on what to wear.”
“Nah.” Christian shrugged. “We’re working on you learning to go with the flow.”
“Oh we are, are we?”
“Yep. Go get changed.”
I squinted before heading to the bathroom. “Bossy.”
When I came out, Christian was sitting on the couch, which was more of a loveseat to fit in my tiny apartment. He took up more than half of the thing. My eyes shifted to the neat pile next to him. “Did you fold my clothes?”
He nodded. “You seem like the type who wasn’t going to leave until they were folded, so I figured I’d get it done so we can get on the road. We have a long drive.”
That was oddly sweet, and also very true. I held my arms out to display my current outfit. “So this works for today?”
Christian held up his pointer and motioned in a circle. “Turn. Let me see the full thing.”
I did a 360-degree pivot. “Well?”
He stood. “You have a great ass.”
“Thank you. But is the outfit good for today?”
“Yeah, you can wear anything.”
“If I can wear anything, why did I have to turn so you could see the outfit?”
“That was for my benefit.”
I followed him out, and Christian had a dark SUV parked down the block. Once inside, I fastened the seatbelt and looked around. “This thing has as much square footage as my apartment. Where do you keep it?”
“In a lot across from my place.”
“Do you get to drive it often?”
“I have a bike, too. I use that most of the time because it’s easier to get around in the city.”
“You ride a bicycle around the city?”
Christian started the engine. “A motorcycle.”
“Oh. Isn’t that dangerous?”
“My brother Tyler lives in Jersey. He stayed with me for the weekend at Christmas last year. A cab popped the curb and broke his toe. This city is a warzone however you take it.”
We drove north on I-95 for hours. Christian still refused to give me any hints about where we were going, but I’d begun to suspect he might be taking me to his cabin up in Maine—at least until he got off the interstate and started heading west on a different highway. When he eventually got off at an exit in Vermont, I recognized it. “God, I haven’t been out here in years. We’re near the campground I told you about where my mom used to take me bike riding.”
Christian smiled. “I know. We’ll be there in five minutes.”