Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
“Oh.” I frown.
“I can take you home,” Michael interrupts.
“Okay.” I smile.
“Who are you?” Blake asks.
“Oh, sorry.” I shake my head, embarrassed by my rudeness. “Blake, this is Michael. Michael, this is Blake, my friend.”
They both force a smile and shake hands. “Hello.”
Blake looks Michael up and down as if sizing him up. “And what do you do, Michael?” he asks.
“Security.”
Blake sips his beer. “It’s Saturday night; shouldn’t you be off . . . securing something?”
A frown flashes across Michael’s face.
Oh my god, Blake can be such a rude prick when he wants to be. I widen my eyes at him.
Stop it.
“Just secured a date with this lovely lady, actually,” Michael fires back.
“Really?” Blake’s eyes flick to meet mine before giving him a sarcastic smile. “Good luck with that.”
What?
“Excuse us for a moment, Michael. Just walking Blake out.” I fake a smile as I pull Blake away by the arm. “See you.” Michael nods.
“Bye,” Blake replies without making eye contact.
“What the hell are you doing?” I whisper as I drag Blake toward the door.
“What the hell are you doing?” he fires back.
“I’m enjoying talking to a very nice man, and you’re being very rude.”
“Him.” He huffs. “He’s as far from a nice man as I’ve ever met.”
“You don’t even know him,” I scoff.
“Come on, Rebecca.” He rolls his eyes as we arrive at the front doors. “Your douchedar cannot be that way off.”
“Douchedar?” I frown. “What the hell is douchedar?”
“A douchebag radar.”
“Ha,” I snap. “He is not a douchebag.”
“And you know this how?” He puts his hands on his hips.
“I know him . . . very well, actually,” I lie.
“Yeah, well, I can spot them a mile off, and he’s a king.”
“It takes one to know one.”
“Having fun does not make me a douchebag.” He fakes a smile. “Although dating one does make you stupid.” He kisses my cheek. “Good night, Rebecca.” He turns and walks out through the front doors, and I watch him disappear down the road.
Ugh . . . he’s so annoying.
I walk back to my place at the bar with Michael. “Who’s he?” he asks.
“Ahh.” This is awkward. “He’s my neighbor.” I force an embarrassed smile. “A friend.”
Michael’s eyebrows shoot up as if he’s unimpressed.
“He’s a little overprotective—ignore him. I do.” I tap my drink with his. “Let’s talk about something interesting.”
“Like what?” He smiles, mollified for the moment.
“Like where we’re going on our date next week.”
He slides his hand around my waist. “Where do you want to go?”
An hour later, the car pulls to a stop in front of my house, and Michael looks over at me in the darkness. “Damn, you make me want to call in sick tonight.”
I smile over at him. “Next week.”
“Next week.”
Hope blooms in my chest. There really is something here between us.
I feel giddy.
He leans over and takes my face in his hands. His lips brush over mine as he kisses me softly.
Oh . . .
His tongue slides against mine, and my eyes close at the perfection between us.
He kisses me again and again, and good lord . . .
I pull away from him, overwrought with arousal.
“Wow,” he pants as he looks at me.
“Wow.” I smile.
Wow is right . . . ahhhhhh!
“Have fun at work.” I open the door and lean in through the window. “Call me.” I bat my eyelashes playfully to be cute, and he winks and revs the engine on the car.
I practically float inside and close the door, leaning up against the back of it as excitement runs through me.
Can it be next Saturday night already?
I put the plug in, turn the hot water on, and let it run. I’m in the bath, and it’s after midnight. The room is steamy, and I’ve lit candles to add to the ambience. It’s funny—I never used to take baths; I always saw them as a waste of time.
But lately they’ve become part of my self-care routine.
A deep, hot bath is cathartic and a simple pleasure that I’ve become addicted to.
After my dreamy first kiss with Michael tonight, I’m floating on air. My mind keeps going over and over it, the way he kissed me . . . the way it made me feel.
I have this simmering excitement deep inside.
My phone beeps a text. I lean out, dry my hand on the towel, and pick it up.
It’s a text from Michael. Ahh . . . I swipe it open.
Can’t stop thinking about you.
I smile broadly and reply.
Me too.
Another text bounces in.
Send me a teaser.
Huh? I frown. What does that mean?
Another text bounces in.
I need something to get me through to next week.
What’s he talking about?
Another text arrives.
I’ll go first.
My phone dings again, and I open the message.
It’s a cock shot.
Huh?
I stare at it in confusion. “What the fuck?” The photo is taken in a bathroom, and I can see a reflection of the window in the mirror. This photo was taken in the daytime.