The Summer Girl – Avalon Bay Read Online Elle Kennedy

Categories Genre: Chick Lit, Contemporary, New Adult Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
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With my family gone the house is completely empty, so there’s no reason Tate can’t come over here, but the idea of him finding me in his own bed is a lot more appealing. More of a sexy shock for him. He’s done working at seven today. He had to stay late so his dad could train him in some payroll matters, but said he’d be home by seven thirty. I told him I’d cook him dinner.

What he doesn’t know is that we’re having dessert first.

Me: Hey. What’s the keypad code to get in through your back door? I need to steal some spices. Can you believe we ran out of both salt and red pepper?

Tate: If I tell you the code, you can never share it with anyone.

Me: Of course not. I was only planning to post it on Twitter, not any of my other social media accounts. Keep it exclusive, you know?

Tate: Perfect. 25591. I’m on my way home now. Grabbing a quick shower and then I’ll head over to you.

Excellent.

I’m all ready to go. I shaved my entire body, so it’s smoother and softer than a baby’s bottom. I chose the color white for the lacy bra and matching thong I picked up in town earlier. According to the saleswoman, the official shade of it is honest-to-God called virginal white. Once I heard that, I would’ve bought the lingerie set for the comedy appeal alone. Thankfully, I look great in white. When I stepped out of the dressing room, Joy and the saleswoman assured me no man would be able to keep his hands off me.

There’s really only one man I care about tonight.

I give my reflection one last inspection in the hall mirror. I’ve straightened my hair and am wearing it loose. No makeup, save for some lip gloss and light mascara. Definitely no blush, because I’ll be doing that naturally anyway. It’s my cross to bear. I don’t even keep blush in my makeup case.

Since I can’t strut next door in my underwear, I throw a loose tank dress over my head and slip my feet into a pair of flip-flops. I walk the path at the side of our houses toward the Jacksons’ back deck, where I punch in the code on the door, and the lock releases.

Tate’s been keeping the place super clean. I like that. I head for the wide spiral staircase in the front hall that’s painted a nautical blue and features white wainscoting. At the top of the stairs, I get an idea. I dart back to the hall and kick one flip-flop off, leaving it on the hardwood floor. I leave the other flip-flop on the first step. My dress halfway up the stairs. Grinning at the little trail I’ve created, I head for the guest room where Tate’s been staying.

His bed is made and the duvet smells good, like fabric softener and Tate’s unique, masculine scent, which always makes me think of the ocean. I’m not surprised everything is so neat and tidy. He told me he picked up the habit at Scouts’ camp. Because of course he was a Boy Scout. Apparently his dad was his troop leader, which also doesn’t surprise me. Gavin Bartlett is the epitome of fun dad.

Speaking of Gavin, Tate said his parents had invited me over for dinner. So far, I’ve been putting it off. Dinner with his parents would make it feel like we’re seriously dating, and I’m trying to keep a proper distance there. I know this is just a fling. I’m returning to Boston at the end of the summer, and it’s not like long-distance relationships ever work. Besides, I already told him I don’t want a relationship, and Tate doesn’t want one either. He’s simply having fun. We both are.

My heart rate spikes when I finally hear the front door open. The alarm beeps a few times, then stops once Tate arms it.

His muffled voice says, “What the …” and I smother a grin. Someone’s spotted my abandoned flip-flops and dress.

“Cassie?” he calls warily.

Footsteps approach the stairs.

“Up here!” I tell him.

“Oh, thank God.” His voice gets louder. “I was worried I was going to find you murdered up there.”

I choke out a laugh. “Why would a murderer take the time to arrange my clothing in a trail?”

I hear him approaching the bedroom door. “I don’t know. To fuck with my head and—” Tate halts in the doorway. His Adam’s apple bobs when he spots me. Eyes instantly blazing. “Holy hell.” He shakes his head. “Wow.”

“What?” I ask innocently.

“Don’t what me. You look …” He swallows again. “So … fucking … good.”

His hungry eyes devour my body, which I’ve posed pinup style just for him. One knee propped. Head resting on his pillows and back arched, a position that makes my boobs jut out enticingly. It’s rare for me to put the girls on display like this, but I love the way he’s looking at them right now.



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