Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“What’s on your mind?” he asked me as we both sat down on the old dining chairs. He was looking at me in a way that made me feel like he was seeing into my soul, and I wished I could do it right back to him and make him squirm.
I cleared my throat. “Just thinking about what you said,” I told him after a sip of whiskey. “I can’t relate at all when you say you wouldn’t want to settle. I feel like I’ve wanted to settle down for my whole life, really.”
Rush cocked his head to one side, taking his time thinking. “And live that boring life? Doing the same things all the time, with the same person?”
I gently swirled the whiskey at the bottom of the glass. “I think it’s something a lot more fun than that,” I said. “The idea of getting to know someone even better than they know themselves. Knowing exactly how to make them feel good. What makes them tick. Knowing they’ll be there for you, for anything. Fuck, I sound like such a sap when I’m drunk.”
“You’re such a romantic,” Rush murmured. “It’s sweet.”
My chest got fiery. “I can tell when you say it’s sweet, you really mean it’s corny bullshit that you don’t want any part of, right?”
“A little,” he said. “The moment I get too close to people, they stop liking me. I’ve seen it more than enough.”
I furrowed my brow. “Are you crazy? Bullshit. They can’t all stop liking you.”
He clicked his tongue. “You’d be surprised.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What’s not to like about you? You’re successful, funny, very attractive, a good hugger—”
“Hell yes,” Rush said, closing his eyes for a moment. “Let me bask in these compliments.”
I puffed out a laugh. I may as well have been wearing a neon sign over my head that read Please Fuck Me.
“I’m serious, though. How could anyone just stop liking you the more they know you? You’re always honest. You’re always yourself.”
“Because people always expect me to change,” he said simply. “They think I’ll settle down. They think I’ll stop working so much. They think I’ll stop looking at strangers with killer asses walking by on the street.”
“What warm-blooded person wouldn’t look at a stranger’s great ass?” I said. “I want marriage and kids more than anything, but I hope to God I’ll never stop appreciating random hotties on the street.”
“Exactly,” he said, smacking one hand down onto the stickered dining room table. “I need my independence. It’s my lifeblood. I was nothing like my dad, all meat-and-potatoes and tradition. I had fire inside me. And I’ve never wanted to give that up for anyone.”
I paused for a beat, watching him with some mixture of awe or intimidation—I couldn’t tell which. Rush really thought that to be in a committed relationship, he’d have to give up the fire inside him.
Who on Earth would ever want to stamp out his fire? No wonder he thought he didn’t want a partner.
“You’re staring at me,” he said softly, leaning back and gazing my way. “What are you thinking?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“I really, really do, though,” he said softly.
“I’m thinking I’m glad I’m a little drunk, because I think otherwise I’d melt into a puddle right now looking at your eyes.”
Rush seemed to like that. He got that same glint of satisfaction in his eyes, knowing that I was desperately attracted to him.
“I can go put a paper bag over my head, if that makes it easier for you,” he said.
I snorted, shaking my head. “I think I’ll be able to handle you.”
One of his eyebrows lifted. “Oh yeah?”
Heat flushed onto my cheeks. “Handle looking at you, I meant. Christ.”
His hand reached over the table and he squeezed mine, his palm soft and warm. “You have no reason to be nervous. I like looking at your face, too, you know.”
I pulled in a slow, even breath. For fuck’s sake, why did every part of him have to be so attractive? Even looking at his hands, his wrist, the soft hair on his forearm… all of it made me want to crawl across the table and straddle him and let him do absolutely anything he wanted to me.
“Why am I so damn desperate for touch?” I muttered. He squeezed my hand again.
“Come here,” he said softly, and all of my willpower evaporated like water on a sweltering summer day. He patted the seat next to him on the other side of the table, and gave my hand a little tug.
It was like fireworks had replaced the space where my brain used to be. I got up, woozy from the alcohol but also probably from all of my blood rushing straight to my cock. The table’s seats were long, wooden benches, and by all means I should have sat in the spot where he’d patted.