Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
I watch Summer look over the wines, studying her profile.
I suddenly wish we weren’t here in this cottage, at least not with such a crowd. Of course, it’s shit timing to realize this now. I’ve had Summer all alone for over a week. The whole reason I decided to host this dinner party is because I wanted to put a buffer between us, but now that so many people are here, I’ve found myself wanting to steal her away for a quiet moment all night. I haven’t talked to her one on one in hours, not since I went up to take a shower.
Now that I have her semi-alone, blocked off to the side of the kitchen, far enough in the corner that we’re mostly concealed from the view of the living room, I realize I don’t have a plan of action here. I’m still not sure how to proceed. After bantering like that during dinner last night, she has to be thinking about it too, no?
I step up behind her as she looks over the bottles, and it feels like we’re away from prying eyes if only for a moment.
“Do you like that one? Or should I open another red?”
She sets down the bottle she was inspecting, ignoring my question as she turns and props her hands behind her on the wooden counter. She tilts her head and studies me, waiting…
Summer’s in a sweater dress. Maybe she’s worn it before, but it looks different on her tonight. She’s taken the time to straighten her hair, and it’s so long and silky. She’s put on makeup too, enough to make her green eyes bigger and brighter, if that’s even possible.
“Are you the jealous type?” she asks.
“Not usually.”
Never mind that I’ve left off the second half of that truth: Not usually…except with you. What good would it do to tell her my half-formed feelings? I’m already in trouble.
She only holds my gaze for a second more before she looks back down at the wine.
“I’m suddenly feeling like I’ve had a little too much,” she admits. “Maybe we shouldn’t open another bottle.”
She’s only had one glass.
“Other people might want more, and I doubt they’ll be leaving anytime soon.”
She scrunches her features like she doesn’t like the sound of that and mumbles something under her breath.
“What was that?”
She startles and looks at me, innocence personified in her wide-eyed expression. “Oh.” She swallows. “I just…” Her shoulders sag as she reluctantly offers the truth. “I said, ‘I kind of wish they would.’”
I’m surprised to hear that. She seemed to be having a good time talking with Freya and Alice. She finally got the ratios right on her salad dressing too. I would have thought she’d be excited for everyone to try it.
“Why’s that?”
She peers up at me, pink-cheeked and shy. For a long moment she stalls, chewing on the edge of her bottom lip.
“Why?” I prod, unable to stop myself from pushing us into this dangerous territory. Regrets can be worried over tomorrow.
She’s nervously toying with the bottom of her sweater dress now. “Because I’ve been thinking about what you and I talked about last night…about me seeing other people. Once, that is. Just to know what it’s like.”
Fuck. Me.
“Summer.”
“The offer’s still on the table, isn’t it?” Her attention drifts over toward Oliver’s friend. “I’m sure he—”
Before I know it, I have ahold of her cheek so I can guide her attention back to me. I inch closer. Our knees brush, my thigh slips ever so gently between her legs. My hand shifts from her face, moving around to the back of her neck. “Have I told you yet? I really like this dress.”
“You do?” She swallows and touches my forearm, and when I don’t shake her off, she keeps her hand on me, roving higher up over my bicep before stopping at my shoulder. A slow smile pulls at her lips.
“You shaved.”
Yes. For the first time in months. I felt like an idiot doing it earlier, carefully leaning over the bathroom counter, getting rid of the scruff, trying to look decent for her.
“I like it,” she admits boldly.
It’s the closest she’s come to admitting what she thinks of me, and now that I’ve had a taste of the truth, I want more.
“Tell me more. In the morning, we’ll forget everything.”
“You promise?” she asks sweetly.
I nod and lean in so she won’t have to speak loudly. A whisper is barely an admission. Words said only between us—maybe it’ll be like they were never said at all.
“In the morning, we go back to normal,” she demands, her hand moving from my shoulder to my chest, tracing a line down the center of my shirt.
I swallow and nod. “We have to.”
Do we? Right now I can’t think straight.
She comes forward so her mouth is just below my ear. “Sometimes I can barely think straight…with you there’s always something tugging at me.”