Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 91079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Can you give me a ride to the bus station? Or order me one of those you-bers? I don’t know how to do it.”
Hiccup.
His smile is bewitching. All those hard lines on his face melt away. His eyes lighten. This man is sexy when pissed. But he’s devastatingly handsome when he’s not. “Uber.”
“What?”
“It’s called Uber.”
“Oh.” I shove a cracker in my mouth. “They should spell it with two O’s then. Shit’s confusing. We don’t have them where I live. We don’t even have taxis.”
“What do you do when you need a ride?”
I give him the best look I can that suggests he’s stupid. “We drive.”
He rolls his eyes. “I mean when you go out, smartass. Like to a bar or a club. You do have bars and clubs, right?”
“We have them,” I say around a mouth full of cracker. And a hiccup.
“So what do you do when you go out to a bar, have too many drinks and can’t drive home? Or do you hillbillies just drive around drunk?”
I nod. “Yeah. We mostly just do that.”
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters.
“Don’t say the Lord’s name in vain.”
“I didn’t. I was calling on him to bring the rapture to Mt. Olive, Mississippi, ASAP.”
I shoot him a toothy grin. “You’re funny.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I drank nine fingers of whisky.”
Hiccup.
“And you’re dropping crumbs all over my thirty-thousand-dollar couch.”
“There’s probably some pizza crust from the other night between the cushions too.”
His eyes close and he shakes his head. But he doesn’t get angry. I like him like this—un-pissed. He would wait until I was leaving to start acting nice.
“So will you take me to the bus station?”
He looks at me for a long time. I’m not sure exactly how long, but I’ve ate four crackers. If I could hit rewind, I’d have been drunk the entire time I was around him. It’s easy this way. Less intense. I can handle his long, silent, stoic stares without fidgeting or feeling self-conscious. Although it could be that this is the first time he’s looked at me without condemnation.
“Today was my fault,” he says. I shoot a glance across the room expecting to see a big blimp pass outside the window that says, Psych!
“Are you apologizing to me?”
Hiccup.
“No. But what you said to Cam was true. Yesterday was all on you. But today is on me.”
“You eavesdropped on our conversation?”
He glares. “You can’t eavesdrop in your own house.”
“You did.”
His eyes fall closed. I think he’s praying again. More for patience than the rapture. I mouth an, “amen” when he finishes.
And hiccup.
“You’re impossible.”
“I can see where you might think that.”
He squeezes the bridge of his nose in exasperation, but I can see a hint of a smile. And suddenly, I just want him to kiss me.
Maybe it’s the alcohol.
Maybe it’s my hormones.
Maybe it’s because he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in my life and I don’t think I can go one more moment without feeling his lips on mine. Even if I have to climb into his lap, straddle his hard thighs and steal it, I need this kiss.
If he rejects me, who cares? If he hates me, it won’t matter. I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. I’m leaving here soon. Possibly within the hour. He’ll never have to see me again. If I don’t kiss him, I’ll always regret it. But if I do kiss him, even if it’s terrible, at least I’ll forever have the memory. And maybe a restraining order. But those things sound a lot worse than they really are.
Not that I’ve ever had one or anything…
“Can I have another bottle of water?” I’m breathless and he hasn’t even kissed me.
“Yeah.” He takes the empty bottle from my hand but instead of going to the kitchen, he walks to the little mini bar across the room.
So much for having the time to form a decent plan…
It’s now or never.
I scramble off the couch. Catch my footing on step three just before I face plant the floor, and am two inches from his lips when he turns around.
“What the f—“
Say “fuck.”
Do it.
Right now.
Notice how your teeth sink into your bottom lip on the “f?”
Well…that’s the exact moment I pressed my mouth to his. So instead of kissing soft, puckered lips, then coaxing them apart with my tongue and swallowing his moan as I devour his mouth that tastes like whiskey and mint, even though nobody ever tastes like whiskey and mint, I end up licking his teeth.
Gums too.
All while he just stands frozen in place.
You know, any decent human would at least attempt to salvage the kiss. I mean, he doesn’t have to just stand here and continue to let me humiliate myself. He could easily pull away. Cup my head. Angle his head. Something. But does he? Nope. And I can’t do any of these things because I’m literally pressing my tongue against his teeth to keep from falling on my face.