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 don’t know.” I laugh honestly. “I’m just warning you.”
I notice a few things about Andy:
He appears to be in an office surrounded by sports memorabilia. The wall is plaid and has a wallpaper border covered with footballs that appears vintage.
He looks freshly showered, like he smells good.
He’s in a leather reclining chair, arm behind his head.
I can’t stop looking at that biceps. He’s not flexing it, but I know from experience that it’s firm and toned without him having to move it. I’ve felt that muscle . . .
Yum.
My mouth waters a little, and I want a shower to cool myself off.
Yikes.
Yikes in the very best way.
Damn, Andy. You’re as attractive as I remember you.
I don’t say this, of course—I know why he’s calling. He wants to discuss that last point of business we were messaging about—i.e., the potential of a long-distance relationship.
Instead I say, “Did you not know you should give a girl a heads-up before you randomly video chat her? What if I had bedhead and had just woken up from a nap or something?”
“Are you in bed during this nap?” he lazily drawls, unfazed.
“Uh. Yes. I normally nap in bed.”
“Good. Then I’ll have to randomly video chat you on the off chance I can catch you being lazy. It’s sexy.”
Giving in to the moment, I flop down onto the mattress, hair fanning out on my pillow, hyperaware that my dark hair against the white pillowcase probably makes me look like a mermaid or some other exotic creature—certainly one that’s super sexy.
Obviously.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
His grin is wide. “If I caught you just getting out of the shower, even better.”
Andy’s teeth are white against his tan skin, and he obviously hasn’t shaved today. I don’t hate the stubble, not even an ounce. He looks rugged and rough around the edges, and quite frankly, he looks like a typical midwesterner. I imagine him in a red-and-black flannel shirt when the weather gets cold, with jeans and boots.
“Is that the reason you called? To talk about relationships or catch me naked?”
He shrugs, his shoulders squeaking against the leather chair. “I wanted to get a look at that gorgeous face when I talk. I hate texting.”
Most dudes do. I know this from doing research for Kissmet.
“Aww, you think I have a gorgeous face?” I flutter my lashes.
I believe this man when he compliments me.
I believe he thinks I’m cute and finds me attractive—my common sense tells me he wouldn’t have wasted his time with me the other day gallivanting around the city if he hadn’t.
Even if he only wanted to be friends.
Which it doesn’t sound like he does.
Butterflies literally take over my stomach, spreading their wings and flapping them wildly; so wildly I have to press a hand there to quell them as I stare at the object of my dreams for the past few nights.
Sleepless nights, if I’m being honest.
But.
It’s like I said—he lives in Seattle at the moment, and I’m here in Wisconsin, and geographically it makes zero sense. None.
“I think you have a gorgeous face.” He seems to lean closer to the camera to peer at me. “Especially those freckles on your nose.”
I touch the bridge of my nose with the tips of my fingers. “Are you into a girl with freckles?”
I bat my eyelashes at him.
“How could I not be? They’re my favorite. I could lick them off you one by one and never get sick of it.”
My fingers are still touching my skin. Skin that I cover with foundation because my freckles look like blemishes or acne, and who wants it to look like they have zits all the time when it’s actually freckles? Not me.
Embarrassed at his praise, I move the conversation along.
“Did you just call to talk about my freckles? Because I hadn’t realized you knew they existed. I hadn’t realized you were looking that hard.”
“Oh, believe me, I was looking.”
He’s looking at me right now.
Studying me through the camera. I’m not sure how to act or behave or what to even say because I find him so flippin’ good looking I can’t even stand it right now. I’m so attracted to him.
I wonder what’s going on in his head but don’t have to wonder very long because he tells me.
“I called so we could talk about, you know—how you actually feel about long distance and all that.” He pauses. “I figured we should discuss it face to face like two adults.”
Like two adults? I see only one adult here, and it isn’t me. Ha!
One of my shoulders goes up in a shrug, the only gesture I’m capable of right now because if I keep looking directly at him, I’ll get all tongue tied and say something stupid, like “Of course I’ll go out with you even though we’re halfway across the United States apart.”