Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 38149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
Crap.
I pasted a smile on my face when Aunt Mary called out a friendly good-bye from the porch. I slipped on the Ugg boots I’d left next to the stairs, and I stepped behind her. Joe tipped his head politely in my direction, his expression unreadable as he headed for his truck.
“Such a nice man,” she gushed before spinning on her heels, humming “White Christmas.”
I hurried after him.
“Wait up.”
Joe tossed his toolbox and clipboard onto the passenger seat, then turned to face me. “Hey, there’s nothing to say.”
“Of course, there is. Look…I generally have a better memory, but the context was off and—”
He held his hand up and nodded. “I know. I wasn’t going to mention it at all, but I was sort of proud of myself for putting it together. Everything was so…dark that night. And I don’t think you had a beard.”
“I didn’t,” I confirmed, wrapping my arms around my body. Fuck, it was cold. “I’m sorry. I—”
“Don’t apologize. I’ve had more one-night stands in my life than I should admit. I’m not offended that you don’t remember.”
“I do remember. To be perfectly honest, it’s fuzzy, but I definitely remember.”
Joe’s lips twitched in amusement. “Three shots of whisky will do that to you.”
“Wine and beer too.”
We went quiet. Light snowflakes floated to Earth, lending an ethereal air to the afternoon. The fanciful writer in me couldn’t help thinking it felt as if fate was giving us a redo…with a measure of grace I wasn’t sure I deserved.
Okay, that sounded far too poetic a description for a one-night-only liaison, but as my memory cleared, it fit.
See, I remembered the wanting. I remembered the brush of our knees, the heat of his touch when he set his hand over mine. I remembered leaning in, my lips tickling his ear as I set too much money on the bar and told him I had to use the restroom. He’d followed me. We didn’t speak. But when our eyes had met in the mirror, heat sizzled and exploded. I’d crowded him against the bathroom wall and stuck my tongue down his throat. And he’d loved it. His hands in my hair, on my ass, fingers cupping my cock through the layer of denim.
I vaguely remembered pulling away when he kneeled. “Famous Author Caught in Compromising Situation in Dive Bar Bathroom!” Yeah, Martin would have fucking loved dealing with that headline. I’d yanked him up again and invited him to my room at the hotel next door. I could have sworn he’d agreed, but when we reached the parking lot, he’d kept moving to a truck partially hidden behind a tree. I followed him and…suddenly, we were alone, groping and grinding like animals in heat.
I hadn’t stopped him when he unbuckled my belt and undid my jeans. I hadn’t stopped him when he sunk to his knees on a carpet of crunchy autumn leaves. And I certainly hadn’t argued when he sucked me like a god. I remembered warning him that I was close, and I remembered his gravelly whisper in the dark.
“Fuck me.”
We’d come together feverishly, sucking on tongues and swollen lips as we’d stroked each other. One of us had a condom and a travel packet of lube. Maybe me? He’d opened the door and bent over the passenger’s side seat, pushing his jeans low. My fingers in his ass…my cock in his ass, and…
Wow. Just…wow.
Sex was a drug, rendered clumsy with alcohol, but not that time. I’d clutched his hips, rocking and rolling experimentally before thrusting inside. And when I came, I’d felt like I lost a piece of myself. As if what we’d done was special somehow. Which was crazy talk.
Sex with a stranger in a dark parking lot was the opposite of special. But you know…if he hadn’t disappeared so fast, I definitely would have invited him to my room. Because special or not, it was hot enough to warrant a repeat.
But that hadn’t happened. We’d said an awkward good-bye, gone our separate ways, and now…here we were again.
I studied Joe’s thick beard, full lips, and pretty hazel eyes. He was a good-looking man. I liked that he had calluses on his fingers, a scar next to his ear, and a few threads of silver peeking through his beard. All real…not an ounce of artifice.
I had a feeling he’d laugh aloud if I told him my ex bleached his asshole, only shopped at the bougie market on Santa Monica Boulevard, and wouldn’t go to the gym unless his trainer was there to work out with him.
Except, those weren’t exactly kosher conversations to have with the guy who I hoped was going to do some home repairs for me, for fuck’s sake. And who happened to live in a very, very small town.
Time to kick our restart into gear.
Joe beat me to it. “Hey, it was fun. The whole evening. I don’t think I’ve ever talked about hundred-year-old cold-case murders with a guy I wanted to—well…you know.”