Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“But you’re hard.” I stared pointedly at the rather prominent bulge straining his zipper. I wanted to make him feel amazing too.
“Uh-huh, and you’re about five minutes from a heap of regret, and I’d rather not be mid-orgasm when the second-guessing hits.”
“That’s not fair.” I frowned. “I’m the one who started the kissing. I’m not going to regret something I started.” I said the words, but my conviction was already wavering. “And like you said, now I know I’m not a bad kisser. Among other facts.”
Fuck. There it was. Remorse. Not for what happened as much as what I now knew with startling clarity. All the girlfriends, all the posturing, all the hoping and praying couldn’t hide my attraction to men.
“Want to talk about those other facts?” Jonas’s expression was kind, eyes soft and kiss-swollen lips gently parted. God, I wanted to kiss him all over again.
“No.” I squished up my face, pouting like a little kid. “I don’t want to think about any of that. I’d rather not think at all, honestly.”
“And here comes regret.” Jonas bent to give me a last kiss on the top of my head before scooting off the bed.
“Where are you going?” I sounded entitled, especially given the early morning hour, but I really didn’t want him to leave. I wanted more, and I desperately did not want to be alone with my brain.
“You need time to process.” Jonas exhaled hard as he adjusted his clothing while standing near the closed door. “As do I.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t exactly argue with him needing a break. Fuck. Maybe I’d overwhelmed the guy by more or less jumping his bones, or perhaps I wasn’t the only one with regrets.
“If you want to talk about what happened later, you know where to find me.” Jonas paused with his hand on the knob to look back at me, expression hard to read. “And if you’d rather pretend this didn’t happen, I’ll understand.”
If only. I wanted nothing more than to pretend this hadn’t happened, that I didn’t just have the orgasm of my life with Jonas, but I couldn’t. As he left, soft footsteps echoing down the hall and then on the basement steps, I missed him already. I’d never been so fucked in my life.
Chapter Twelve
Jonas
The disadvantage to having the large finished basement as my room was that Oz and I shared space with the washer and dryer, which led to chatty visitors when I’d rather veg out alone with the TV or a book. I was doing everything in my power to avoid seeing or thinking about Declan, but my efforts to hide out were thwarted by a super chatty Rowan, who was humming a show tune and twerking his scrawny frame while holding a stack of hangers.
“Laundry almost done?” I asked from the couch because Rowan so clearly wanted interaction, as evidenced by the three prior trips up and down the stairs while giving a running commentary on everything from the scent of the detergent to the state of the towels already occupying the dryer.
“Yes, thankfully.” Rowan grinned at me. “I cut it close, but I let Maren have the washing machine yesterday because she had to head back to college this morning. However, I need my lucky hoodie for tomorrow.” He narrowed his eyes. Tomorrow would be the first day of school after winter break, and the house was full of sullen teens. “My hoodie might not be enough protection. Do you have a spare sword? Maybe some chain-link armor?”
“Chainmail,” I corrected with a smile. “And more drama in the drama club?”
“I think Sheila is about to stage a revolt to win the presidency from me. God, I’m so over high school.” Rowan gave an over-the-top moan worthy of any stage production.
“A few more months.” I set aside my e-reader because reassuring Rowan came before finding something new to read. I couldn’t return to the series with the vicar anyway, not now, not with every interaction with Declan more tense than the last. It had been a few days since we kissed, and not surprisingly, he hadn’t asked me to read. We passed in the hall. We made small talk in the kitchen. It was awful, and I had only myself to blame. Hence, my need for a new book.
“I might not survive until graduation.” Rowan’s voice was mournful.
“College will be—”
“Better. I know.” Rowan huffed a breath as he placed another shirt on a hanger, this one silky with silver stars. “But college means applications, and I’m so over filling out forms. However, I found the perfect distraction from application hell.”
“What’s that?” From the way Rowan was bouncing on his feet, he was dying to share, and predictably, I barely had to prompt before he continued.
“There’s an open audition call for a new TV series about high school—”