Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 44459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
I was feeling a hell of a lot less solid now. I’d texted the link to Chelsea as soon as it went live and . . . I hadn’t heard from her since.
Awareness rolled through me as a figure appeared in the revolving door and then emerged into the lobby of the Italian restaurant we’d decided to meet for dinner. Chelsea undid the single button holding her coat closed, revealing the fitted green dress she wore beneath.
Relief and anxiety pumped through my veins in an even mixture as her gaze scanned the room and discovered me standing at the bar. When a bright smile broke out on her face, my knees went weak. God, she was so fucking beautiful.
Her feet carried her swiftly toward me, not giving me time to decide how I’d greet her. A hug? Should I kiss her? It was what I wanted, but was that too much?
When she leaned in, I met her halfway—only for her to turn at the last moment and plant her lips on my cheek. Her kiss was so brief, it was over before it finished registering, and my mind scrambled. I had no idea if this meant anything, or if she was one of those sociable people who greeted all their friends this way.
“Hi.” She was breathless and her cheeks were pink, either from a brisk walk or the late November weather.
“Hey,” I said. “You made it. Everything go all right with your train?”
“Yeah.” She noticed the drink sitting in front of me on the bar.
“Sorry, I ordered already. I was”—nervous—“thirsty.”
A faint smile glanced across her lips. She knew the truth, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she snatched up my drink. She’d barely gulped a sip down before she froze, as if she were just realizing I might have found this offensive.
Her voice was quiet. “Sorry. Do you mind?”
I smiled and shook my head. Her action was intimate and familiar, and I kind of liked it. “No, I don’t mind.”
Relief washed through her expression, and she took another sip. “Old Fashioned?” she asked, although she clearly knew the answer. “It’s good.”
“It is. You want me to order you one?” I glanced over to the bartender at the other end of the bar.
“No,” she said.
Her hand landed gently on my arm, and the gesture made my chest tight. I liked how close she stood and the way her hand molded to my bicep. I liked it so much, I had to control my voice to keep it normal. “Our table’s not ready yet, so we’ve got time if you—”
She squeezed softly, and I’d swear every muscle in my body went taut.
“Yeah, we’ve had plenty of time already.” Her words were low and wistful. “Every long day since the night we met.”
I cocked my head as I peered at her, not understanding. She pressed her lips together and inhaled through her nose, making her shoulders lift.
“I know we have reservations,” she continued, “but what if we just skipped to the good part and, like, had dinner after?”
I blinked, and my blood warmed, heating my body. Is she saying what I think she’s saying? “The good part?”
When she was bashful, she wasn’t just gorgeous—she was downright cute. “Sex.”
Words fell out of my brain, but a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. I’d missed lunch and been hungry all afternoon, but suddenly food was the farthest thing from my mind.
Chelsea straightened, perhaps wanting to shake off her nerves. “Is that weird? We talk to each other all the time, but that was all we could do.” Her gaze locked onto me. “And now we’re here, together, and I want what I couldn’t have for the last three weeks.”
“Yeah?” My heart raced. I understood, because I felt exactly the same way. But I swallowed thickly, hoping the effect her words had on me didn’t show. “Want to know what I want?” She nodded. “For you to finish my drink so we can get out of here and go back to my place.”
She grinned widely, pressed the glass to her lips, and took a long sip.
My place was within walking distance of the restaurant, and we hurried together over uneven sidewalks and ventilation grates, and up the three narrow flights of stairs to my apartment door.
Urgency made me rush and the lock was ancient, so it took several frustratingly long seconds to get the deadbolt to turn and the door open. She followed me in and as soon as I snapped on the light, her gaze moved to evaluate the space in a quick sweep.
I’d tidied up earlier, hoping she’d come home with me after dinner, but it seemed the effort was wasted. She didn’t care about my clean countertops or recently vacuumed carpet, or that my décor was straight from IKEA.
All Chelsea was focused on right now was me.