Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Shivers flutter up my spine, but I don’t want this just to be about sex. I mean, there’s no way I’m going home without getting naked, but I want to talk too—I want to hear more about his book and I want to tell him about the scholarships. I grab the potatoes I brought and start to prepare them. “Tell me more about your meeting with Mrs. Fletcher.”
He exhales and leans against the counter, like he’s in some kind of dilemma, rather than being told he’s written a blockbuster, breakout novel. “I told you everything.”
We spoke on the phone after his meeting, ostensibly to arrange tonight, but we’d ended up talking for over an hour.
“I knew she’d love it.”
He laughs. “You haven’t even read it.”
“But you worked so hard on it. And she loved it before you even made the edits, or she wouldn’t have asked you for them in the first place.”
He presses a kiss to the top of my head.
“Tell me why you’re not excited?” I ask. There’s something bothering him. Something about the situation isn’t sitting right, but I can’t tell what.
“I am excited.” His voice is flat and unconvincing. I can’t help but laugh. “I am,” he says again. “It’s just the way she’s talking, things aren’t going to take long. She’s sending out the manuscript on Monday. She says we might have offers before the end of the week.”
I turn my attention from the potatoes to look at him. “That’s amazing, but you think it’s too fast?”
He frowns like he can’t quite understand why he’s not more excited either, and he’s trying to figure it out.
“You want more time to work on the book?” I suggest. I’m not quite sure why he’s not playing air guitar and punching the air.
He takes a large swig of his wine and sets his glass on the counter. “I need to tell my family.”
I put down my knife and toss the potato I’m holding into the pan. “You don’t want to?”
“They’re all medics. My dad—I’m not sure how he’s going to react.”
“But this is your life, Zach, I—”
He cuts me off. “I know. But…it will be a shock to them and…I’m not sure they’ll…”
I wipe my hands down my jeans and step towards him, circling my arms around his waist. “What you’ve done is amazing. If they don’t see that…”
“I want them to be okay about it.” The expression on his face tells me he wants them to be more than okay about it.
“It’s Dax’s birthday this weekend. I’m going up to Norfolk. I’ll tell them then.”
“Good. It will be okay.”
“Do you want to come with me?” he asks.
I’m aware of every part of me touching him. I don’t want to move and give away my shock at his question. “You want me to?”
“It would be great to have someone there who gets it.”
My instinct is to accept instantly, but my instincts haven’t served me well in the last few years. Does that mean I automatically say no? For the first time since Zach and I kissed, I feel a little awkward. “Will Nathan be there? You said he was supportive when you told him.”
He glances down at me. “Yeah.”
“But of course I’ll come,” I blurt. “I’d love to meet your family.”
I don’t want to meet Zach’s family. It’s too soon. We’re barely dating. I can still count the number of times we’ve had sex. Every instinct is telling me no.
But I like him. I hate seeing him uncomfortable, and my knee-jerk reaction is to make him happy.
“I can’t wait for you to meet them too.”
He dips his head and presses a kiss to my neck, and his touch is like an override button. I relax back into the moment and enjoy the press of his lips, the scrape of his teeth, the tumble of compliments. It all washes away my nerves about my bad instincts and meeting his family.
I fumble at his waist, searching for the edge of his t-shirt. I want to be closer to him, touching more of him. I push my hand under the cotton, but he takes over and pulls his top over his head.
Bare-chested Zach is like something out of a fragrance advert. He’s solid muscle—round, broad shoulders, hard flat pecs, and chiseled abs. Every time I see him in all his naked glory, I’m surprised. Not that he looks out of shape under his clothes—more that he just looks so perfect without them.
“It makes it worth it,” he says as I run my hands over his chest.
I tilt my head, silently asking for clarification.
“The work I put in to having a body like this,” he clarifies. “It’s worth it because you like it. You’re worth it.”
It’s like he’s set my vagina on fire—the idea that he’s in the gym thinking about me. About me touching him and enjoying his body.