Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
That’s how I know this is probably all a dream, anyway. Carter Harrington is not petting my round belly after proposing mid-sex. I’ll wake up in the morning alone, the way I always am. I’ll get up alone, eat breakfast alone, and go to the museum and then later, work on Alphena . . . alone.
And that’s okay. I really don’t mind it . . . usually. Even so, I snuggle into Carter’s embrace, enjoying this dream a little longer.
I wake up to near-blinding sunlight streaming in the window. I stretch out like a cat, feeling deliciously rested.
Man, I slept like the dead last night. And those dreams?
I can’t believe I concocted a whole scenario of Carter proposing for real and then fucking me until I said yes.
My brain is such a strange place, so full of strange ideas. It’s a good thing they’re private because I would be so embarrassed to share that one with Samantha. She’d probably try to write a paper on my delusionary imagination.
I laugh to myself, rolling over and rubbing my eyes. I squint, trying to get the clock into focus. I can’t see well enough to tell what time it is, but I can see that there’s one too many numbers . . . four, instead of three, which means . . .
“I’m late!”
I grab my glasses off the nightstand and shove them onto my face crookedly. I glare at the clock accusingly, wondering why my alarm didn’t wake me at eight like it always does. Now, it’s after ten, the museum is already open, and I’m supposed to be on duty.
I roll out of bed, sprinting for the bathroom. There’s no time for a shower, so a quick brush of my hair, a quicker brush of my teeth, and a fresh layer of deodorant are all I can do. For once, I’m thankful for the ugly uniform I’m required to wear because it limits my choices, so I get dressed in record time.
“Bag, protein bar, and ooh, phone.” I retrace my steps to grab my phone from the nightstand too, giving the clock one more glare.
One step into the living room and I stop in my tracks. “Carter?”
He’s here. In my kitchen. Sipping on—I inhale and catch the scent that should’ve been an automatic tell—fresh coffee from the mug Samantha gave me. The one that says Hos before Bros.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he croons. “Coffee?”
But other than his being here, drinking coffee, the other really weird thing is . . . he’s naked. Like full Monty, sausage and biscuits, dick and balls naked . . . in my kitchen.
“What’re you doing? Why are you . . .?” I point south, keeping my eyes averted north politely.
He chuckles and holds his arms out wide. “Didn’t seem like a big deal after last night.”
Huh? Last night?
How could he know about my dreams? Oh, duh . . . I’m still asleep.
I pinch my arm sharply. “Ow!”
“What the fuck? Why’d you do that?” Dream Carter comes over, setting the coffee down along the way. He takes my arm in his, rubbing the red mark that’s already popping up.
“To wake up. I’m gonna be late for work.” The explanation makes perfect sense to me, but Dream Carter doesn’t seem to think so.
With a furrowed brow, he speaks slowly as though I couldn’t possibly understand regular tempo speech. “You’re awake. Your alarm went off, but I didn’t realize it was for work, so I turned it off. Sorry. Do you want some coffee to go?”
“I’m . . . awake? And you’re naked in my kitchen? With fresh coffee?” I laugh at the ridiculousness.
He grins, a bright glint in his eyes. “Go to work, Luna. I’ll call you later. We’ll do dinner. And if you’re a good girl, maybe a bit of dessert too.”
“Oh-kay,” I drawl because Dream Me really has to get to work, but staying here and having an early dinner could be good too.
Dream Carter swats my butt, telling me he’ll lock up and to have a good day.
When Maeve yells at me for being late, I realize that none of this is a dream. Carter really was naked in my kitchen this morning, which means last night . . . was real too?
I can’t examine that too closely without freaking out, so I bury myself in customer service mode. It’s not until the end of the day, when I check my phone, that it truly hits me.
Carter: Dinner, 7pm. Capitol Chophouse. Wear a dress.
Bossy and to the point. Infuriating man.
A few minutes after that, he texted again.
Carter: Or wear whatever you want.
A smile steals across my lips at his self-correction. That’s the only reason I consider actually going to this dinner.
Who do you think you’re kidding? You’re totally going. And you should hurry up because you need a shower before you go.