Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
I’ve been on the verge of sexual insanity all week. Used my right hand plenty, but that’s only intensified my hunger for Sally. I wanna go slow tomorrow, but I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to hold back.
“And that reason is?” I ask Mollie.
“It’s gonna force each of you to make a decision about your priorities. And maybe that’s a choice you need to make before you can live the life you want. The universe is telling you something here, Wyatt. Listen.”
Shit, am I really gonna cry?
“That’s…a nice thought. Thanks, Mollie.”
Mollie tilts her head toward the kitchen. “C’mon. I brought over a bunch of really expensive wine and my mother’s china. You break it, I kill you. Or, really, she will. Got it?”
We both look up at the sound of the front door opening.
“Helloooo!” Patsy calls. “Mollie, I saw your ATV out front. I’ve got our supplies!”
Mollie squeals. “Wyatt, I freaking love that you enlisted Patsy to help. It’s seriously so sweet of you.”
I’m blushing. “Thanks.”
“I can’t wait for Sally to, like, burst into tears when she sees everything you put together for her. She’s gonna die!”
“I hope she doesn’t die.”
“You know the French call orgasms little deaths, right?” Mollie loops her arm through mine.
I laugh. “I love you.”
“I love you more. Now let’s get you your girl.”
The next evening, I hold the wheel in a death grip all the way to Sally’s house.
I’m nervous. But it’s more about me not reaching for the Marlboros I have in my glove compartment than anything else.
I’ve never needed stress relief more than I do now, though. I would kill for a cigarette. I haven’t lit up since before I kissed Sally the night of the potluck, but if Sally hates smoking, then I’m done doing it.
Checking my reflection in the rearview mirror one last time, I head to the door even though it’s only four fifty. I delegated most of my tasks at the ranch this afternoon to my brothers so I’d have plenty of time to shower and get ready. Guess I took a little too much time off.
I’m not sorry. Yeah, Duke bothered me a couple of times with phone calls about our pain-in-the-ass farrier. But other than that, things seemed to go just fine.
John B answers the door, because of course he does.
“Evenin’, John.” I hold out my hand. “How’s it going?”
He warily takes my hand and shakes it. I wonder if there’s anything more awkward than shaking hands with the man whose daughter is coming to your house for a sleepover.
He knows what Sally and I are about to do. I know. And, Lord, if it don’t make me feel hot under the collar.
“It’s going all right. Sally’s just getting ready.” He steps aside. “Come in.”
The house is warm. Cozy. Smells good—there’s something in the oven.
“Patsy told me you’re gonna cook,” John says after an awkward stretch of silence.
I dip my head. “Yes, sir, I’m going to attempt it. Not much in the way of restaurants around here, but I still wanted the meal to feel special. Pray for me, would you, that I don’t screw it up too badly or burn down my house?”
That gets a chuckle from him. “I think you’ll do just fine.”
We both look up at the creak of floorboards by the top of the stairs. The breath leaves my lungs when I see Sally standing there. She looks fucking gorgeous in jeans and those red cowboy boots she wore that night at The Rattler.
Her lips are pink and full. They glisten. Some kind of lipstick or gloss?
Her dark hair is loose around her shoulders, and her eyes have this subtle sparkle around them that makes me think she’s wearing eyeshadow.
I don’t ever notice the makeup girls are wearing. But I notice everything about Sally. The flush in her cheeks and the self-conscious way she tucks her hair behind her ear, revealing the multiple piercings that dot her lobe.
Placing her hand on the banister, she smiles, her dimple popping. “Hey, Wyatt.”
“He—hey, Sally.” Didn’t realize my mouth was dry. I try clearing my throat. “You look beautiful.”
“I showered for you.” She makes her way down the stairs. “You’re welcome.”
I manage to smile. “How lucky am I?”
I get an intense, not-altogether-unpleasant sense of whiplash. This almost feels like prom night—the pretty girl coming down her parents’ stairs to join her nervous wreck of a date. All I’m missing is a flask of liquor pilfered from my parents’ cabinet, and a corsage for her that color-coordinates with my boutonniere.
Sally and I didn’t go to prom together. I went with random people, girls who had asked me and whose names I can’t remember for the life of me. Sally ended up going stag with her girlfriends.
At the time, I didn’t think much of it. But now I’m glad I didn’t know I was in love with Sally back in high school. Being fully grown adults who appreciate how special our connection is—how rare—is better. Mostly because we don’t have to lie to our parents about where we’re sleeping tonight and who we’re sleeping with.