Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
But that’s what I’m good at, according to Bill.
With a groan, I drag myself off the couch and wander into the kitchen to turn on the kettle for tea. This is ridiculous. I’m thirty years old. I should just message Garrett and ask him what kind of psychopath leaves without finishing what he started.
No … that’s a little accusatory. It needs to be something clever, playful.
I focus on April’s foot on the wall—seven toes, two of them missing nails—and an idea strikes me. With a laugh, I dart back to the living room. Yanking off my sock, I snap a close-up of one foot. I attach that to the message and without any other intro, hit Send just as the kettle whistles.
I’ve barely turned off the element when my phone chirps with a message.
Garrett: Which Stavro ghost is this?
Flutters stir in my stomach. How did he know it was me? I never gave him my—oh, I did. Ned passed it along for me, on that fateful day. Which means Garrett must have programmed it into his phone.
I don’t dwell on that little nugget, punching out a response.
Justine: Vern.
Garrett: Vern has sexy feet.
I bite my bottom lip, waffling over my response. Something I never have to do. But I can’t remember feeling this surge of nervousness, at least not for an eternity.
The three dots bounce on my screen before I have a chance to respond.
Garrett: Where are you?
Justine: Home. You?
I busy myself pouring hot water into a cup and dunking my tea bag, watching the cloud of yellow seep out.
Anxiously awaiting his answer.
The minutes drag with no response. He must be in a meeting or at the gym or—
A knock sounds at the front door, startling me. We rarely have visitors—only Shane, Dean, and Dottie. Occasionally Becca, an old friend of Scarlet’s.
But never this late.
I leave my tea in the kitchen to open the door and see who it is. My breath catches at the sight of Garrett standing on our porch. “Morgan said you went to Philly.”
“I did. And then I drove back here.”
To see me. I hear those words, though he didn’t say them. I hear them because I want them to be true.
He’s in his gray track pants and a clingy, long-sleeved shirt, his hair in sexy disarray. It’s like he threw on whatever he could find in his rush to come over. He must have done so, because my last text to him was eight minutes ago, and it’s a four-minute drive. “Eager much?”
He steps in without invitation, forcing me back, his body towering over me as he shuts the door and flips the lock. “I have a thing for feet.”
“Oh well, in that case, you are in luck, because I have the perfect calendar …” My words die as his cool fingers wrap around my nape again, like he did earlier today. Every inch of my body comes alive, in anticipation of those hands roaming wherever else they want to on me tonight. “How do you know where I lived?”
Minty breath skates across my cheek as he steps in closer. “Sara.”
“She just gave you—”
“I asked.”
“So, about earlier today …” I peer up into the molten eyes locked on my face, and my breath hitches at the raw desire shining there. “You too, huh?”
His jaw tenses. “Oh yeah. Me too.”
I can’t say who lunges first. In the next instant, our lips are crashing into each other as he lifts me up and my legs curl around his waist, his hands gripping my hips as he holds me. It’s as if we’re resuming where we left off, only now we’ve had hours to simmer in lust.
We bump into the small console table on our way to the wall, toppling the candlesticks and framed picture. The sound of glass cracking makes me wince, but I quickly forget, distracted by the feel of Garrett’s hard length pressing against my apex.
My fingers grasp at his shirt, tugging at it. “Need this off,” I manage with our mouths still tangled.
He pulls away for a second, using his hips to pin me to the wall while he yanks his shirt over his head in one move, casting it aside.
“Oh my God, why must you be so perfect?” I groan, admiring the canvas of hard ridges and sculpted muscle beneath my hands.
With an arrogant smirk, he dives back in, his mouth landing on my jawline as his fingers fumble with the buttons of my pajama top. I push the silky material off my own shoulders, exposing my skin to the cool air.
Garrett’s arms flex as he lifts me higher, his mouth landing on my pebbled nipple, his teeth scraping across my flesh, stirring a prick of sharp pleasure before he sucks.
I moan out loud, the back of my head thumping against the doorframe. This is what I was missing that night in the closet. “I’m never wearing boob tape again.” My hands weave through his hair before gently fisting it as I arch my back, giving him better access.