Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
I lean against the bathroom counter now that I’m back in my room after our long day of exploring, finally messaging my dad back to let him know I survived, not surprised that he’s interested in details about Andy since I only gave him a few crumbs of information.
Dad: What does this Andy character do for a living?
Me: I don’t know—it’s none of my business. He’s in between gigs, that’s all he told me. But it doesn’t matter.
Dad: In between gigs, what does that mean? He’s Unemployed and Broke? Harlow Margaret, you don’t need to date a slouch—you want someone to take care of you, not the other way around.
Shit. I’ve activated my dad’s launch sequence, and there is no going back. He is in Full Meddling Mode.
Me: First of all, there is nothing wrong with being in between jobs, especially in this economy. Secondly, we are Not dating, we’re friends and we’re having fun.
Dad: Is “fun” what we’re calling it these days? What’s his last name? I want details.
Me: I’m not giving you full details so you can go online and do a deep dive.
The last thing I need is my father going down a rabbit hole on some poor man I only just met.
Dad: Name.
Me: LOL stop.
Dad: Where is he staying?
Because of privacy laws, I know that even if I gave him the hotel where Andy is staying, they wouldn’t be able to release any information were my father to call, which he absolutely will.
He has that much time on his hands since he’s supposed to be taking it easy.
Me: What did you end up doing today?
Dad: Not much. Took a nap this afternoon and did some grocery shopping. Right now I’m at the house with Kevin to give Lydia a break. He wanted to be walked.
Since my father can only walk at a snail’s pace, and Kevin is a corgi with short legs, it’s a great pairing.
However!
Me: Do Not send the neighbor girl home, I am Paying her to be there while I’m gone.
Dad: It made sense to send her home since I’m here anyway working on the back porch steps.
Me: What’s wrong with the back porch steps?
Dad: Noticed a loose board the last time I was over.
Me: Did you loosen a board the last time you were over? Because those stairs were fine!
Dad: Are you accusing me of creating work?! I’m busy, I don’t have time for this!
Me: I know you’re busy, Dad . . .
I sigh and set my phone on the counter in the bathroom, staring into the mirror. I purse my lips before swiping on a fresh coat of ChapStick.
There is no way I’m going to tell my dad that I have a man in my hotel room. I might be an adult—and he might want me to find my person—but he would not approve of me letting a man into my hotel room whom I’ve only just met!
When we said goodbye at the elevator banks and I leaned in for a hug, my hands lingered on his strong back muscles in the way hands linger when they’ve never had a beefy man like this in them before.
Pretty sure his hands lingered, too, on the small of my back.
He hadn’t wanted to say goodbye, I was sure of it, and he proved me right when he came knocking because he couldn’t stay away—just like in the movies.
Le sigh.
“We’re watching a movie and hanging out. Chillin’,” I tell myself in the mirror, plucking at my cheeks so they’re rosy. “You can do this. This is not a big deal. This is not a date—or a marriage proposal.”
Have fun, have fun, have fun.
Andy is handsome. And charming. And has a voice so deep I want to melt into a puddle of it.
“He’s not here for a one-night stand,” I argue with myself, staring in the mirror. “And even if he is, so what?”
There’s a man in my hotel room—and he’s wearing gray sweatpants.
Repeat after me: Gray. Sweatpants.
Seriously, need I say more?
Does he not know what those signify to a gal such as me? Ugh. Babe magnets. Panty droppers.
Kryptonite.
Fantasy inducing.
It was difficult to keep my eyes on his face when I opened the door to him earlier; I have no idea how I’m going to keep my eyes on his face when I walk back out into my room.
Chapter 8
Andy
Harlow has been in the bathroom so long I almost feel the need to knock on the door for proof of life.
What the hell is she doing in there? Shaving?
I glance around.
Her room is definitely not the penthouse suite—that’s for damn sure—smaller than mine by a lot. Like, I have an office in my suite about the size of this room, so I guess technically it’s actually more of an apartment?
I’m not embarrassed by the fact.
My ears twitch when I hear the faucet go on.