Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“I thought this might make it easier to take that drink.” He peers down at my face and his smile wavers, laying his hand lightly on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“I wasn’t expecting—I’m fine.” I’m also flustered as I hold out the bottle. He’s a big guy and I don’t know him, but I do know how much damage a body like his could do.
You’re not afraid of him.
I’m not. In fact, for someone I’m this attracted to, I’m oddly at ease around him. Maybe it’s because I heard his phone call. Disappointed mothers are an instant equalizer.
I glance at the wrought iron he had to clear to get here and manage a whistle. “Nice jump.”
“It’s the railing that’s the tricky part. One wrong move and I could have been kabobbed somewhere unfortunate.”
While sharing that disturbing visual, he peers over my shoulder and into my apartment. His eyes widen at the mountain I’ve only made a dent in.
“The personal tour might have to wait until next year,” I say dryly. “Maybe I’ll be finished by then.”
He bites his lip and looks down at me. “I need to apologize again, don’t I? I interrupted you and came over without asking. I’ve been curious about this place for weeks, though. I almost bought it, but now I’ve got a real estate agent hunting for houses with big porches and backyard swings.”
Don’t leave. I can make my bedroom available for nightly visits. And I love swings.
My plans to cut the night short have melted away, along with most of my brain cells. I’m blaming him. He fills up the space in and around me without trying. It’s more than his size, though that is substantial. More than his approachable smile or the way he moves. Everything about him, from his eyes to his scent, reminds me of summer. He’s standing there in a snug t-shirt and cotton pajama bottoms, making me long for things I know I can’t have. It’s throwing me.
Was there shrimp hidden in that tortellini? My tongue feels too big for my mouth.
Does your dick swell when you eat shrimp?
It never has before. I tug my sweatshirt down to cover the evidence.
“Should I go?” He drops his hand and shifts uncomfortably. “I thought, since we were already talking—”
“No. I mean yes.” I try to assure him, despite my fumbling tongue. “You’re great where you are. I’m the one who should be apologizing for not minding my own business. I heard the song and didn’t realize what I’d walked into.”
The tension in his frame eases, but his smile holds a hint of self-deprecation. “You didn’t know the musical would turn into a drama?”
That startles a laugh out of me. “Basically.”
“I’d like to say she isn’t usually like that.” He makes a face. “She means well.”
I don’t think I have anything repeatable to say in response, so I point to the small, ragged camp chair instead. “Have a seat.”
“There’s only one.”
“That’s right. And it might collapse under your weight, but it’s all I have until tomorrow and you’re my first guest.” I sit on the balcony, cross my legs at the ankle and lean back against the privacy wall. “I’m Joey, by the way. I’m thinking we’re beyond the formal Redmond and Ransom at this point.” I smirk. “If your first name starts with a J, we should start a detective agency. Imagine the alliterative business cards.”
“Elliot. I’m Elliot J. Ransom.” He stares hard at me, as if waiting for a reaction.
“Middle initials don’t count. Oh well. I knew it was a long shot,” I say with a shrug. “It’s nice to officially meet you, Elliot. Please, have a seat in that shitty chair I didn’t know I had.”
He ignores it and sits across from me instead, pressing his back against the opposite wall before popping open the bottle with his fingertips. “Cheers.”
Elliot Ransom would be the perfect detective name.
Let it go.
I eye his Adam’s apple as he swallows. Fuck. It’s like watching live porn. He even moans a little at the taste, and I let my bottle shield my actions as the heel of my hand subtly presses against my dick to relieve the pressure.
He’s probably a model or a commercial actor. His mother mentioned a manager, and he does have the looks for it. I can picture him in flannel next to a clear mountain stream. Or taking a break from rock climbing to quench his sweaty, shirtless thirst. With his eyes closed and his head tipped back, condensation dripping onto his fingers, I’m ready to buy every case on the market.
And if I don’t change the channel, I won’t be able to get up without embarrassing myself.
“Good stuff.” He reads the bottle with a grin. “I can’t remember the last time I had one of these, but the taste is giving me flashbacks of little league pizza parties.” He looks up at me through his thick eyelashes. “It that really your favorite song? Or is it burned into your brain due to all that nanny wrestling?”