Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
The words make my heart skip—he cares about me, he really does—but before I can get too sappy about how amazing it feels to have my man getting protective about my safety like something out of a Jane Austen novel, a loud meow sounds from downstairs.
Anthony arches a brow. “I told you. He’s probably wasted away to nothing by now.”
I answer him with a wry arch of my own. “Right. Because Pudge is clearly on the verge of starvation, not at a weight that gets me a lecture from the vet about putting him on a diet every time I take him in.”
“Pudge isn’t fat. He’s just big boned,” Anthony says. “And you feed him healthy food in reasonable portions. It isn’t your fault he seems to have a gift for finding unattended goodies.”
“Oh no, that reminds me… I forgot to install the lock on the trash.” Cursing softly, I throw off the covers as I reach for my nightgown, pulling it on before grabbing the pair of sweatpants I was wearing to stay warm during dinner last night and my cashmere cardigan. I’m starting to look as cozy—and chaotic—as I do at home, but Anthony doesn’t seem to care.
He couldn’t keep his hands off of me last night, which is probably one of the reasons that putting the childproof—and Pudge proof—lock on the trash slipped my mind.
Sure enough, when we get downstairs, signs of Pudge’s late night forage litter the floor in front of the refrigerator, even as the greedy beast in question moans in front of his empty food dish like he’s been on a hunger strike for days.
“You are so naughty,” I say, wagging a finger his way as I grab a fresh trash bag from under the sink and start to gather the mess. Thankfully, there wasn’t much in there aside from mostly empty takeout containers that Pudge has licked clean, but I still feel terrible for messing Anthony’s tidy home. “I’ll get the mop in a second,” I assure him.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “The floor looks fine and the cleaning service is coming in a few days.”
“Oh. Okay, that makes sense,” I say, adding another luxury item to Anthony’s list of expensive habits. But I don’t mind cleaning my house or…our house, should it come to that. I truly believe we could make things work financially should Anthony decide a future together is worth giving up his spendy lifestyle.
He’s so smart and charming. I’m sure he could find a wonderful job with chances for advancement that wouldn’t depend on him staying in supermodel shape or getting naked with strangers. Besides, he’s getting older. I don’t mind the age gap between us at all, but surely at forty, he’s starting to think about quitting the biz eventually…
I’m about to throw caution to the wind and ask him if he’s thought about when he might switch career tracks, when he distracts me with a steamy kiss by the sink before reaching past me to grab the kettle on the stove for coffee.
“And I have more enjoyable things in mind than mopping,” he says. “The storm is through and it’s going to be warmer today. What do you think about taking Pudge on a Manhattan adventure?”
I hum beneath my breath, staying close as he fills the kettle. “I’m intrigued. What kind of adventure are you thinking?”
“Ice skating in Central Park?” he asks.
I grin. “Do they have skates in his size?”
“Ha ha,” he says, giving my ass a gentle slap before stepping around me to put the kettle on to boil. “We’ll take him in your carrier, woman. I can wear it if you’re worried about falling on the ice. Not to brag, but I’m a beast on the rink. I used to play in an intramural hockey team before business got too crazy a few years ago.”
Refusing to think about what “crazy” business means for an escort or how many women Anthony has probably slept with, I shoot back, “I’m not too shabby myself. Never played hockey, but I grew up two blocks from the rink our town puts up in the park every winter. I can do a double spin. Never got the triple, but I haven’t fallen in a really long time, so…”
“Hot,” he says, grinning down at me as he wraps an arm around my waist.
I laugh, leaning into him. “Thanks. But I’ll still let you carry Pudge if you don’t mind. He might be a little much for me to manage on skates.” I glance down, to where Pudge is rubbing against Anthony’s leg with a passion he usually displays only with me. “And he obviously has a thing for you.” I shake my head with a faux disgusted sound. “Get a grip, buddy. Haven’t you ever heard of playing hard to get?”