Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
I thought I was annoyed on Friday when she told me El was taking her out, but the thought of her dating random men just makes me feel a hundred times worse, makes me feel all twisted up inside.
No matter what she says about her reasons for dating, I know it’s her way of reminding us both of the fleeting nature of our time together. I get that’s the whole point of joining Hinge, and I can tell her heart isn’t in it. She’s not punishing me, and while a part of me wants to punish her, the more human part of me, a more sensible part, knows he should be thanking her for her efforts.
Thanks for taking my cock like a champ, Mimi.
Oh, and thanks for making sure neither of us gets too attached.
But I don’t want to thank her. The jealous part of me, the animal part, wants to lock her away and never let her out of my sight again. And, yeah, I wanted her in my bed last night—of course I did. I guess I was just being a bit of a dick. But I also thought she’d come storming in at some point to call me out. I didn’t think it would make her feel so wrong-footed. She was so spiky over her vulnerability.
I find myself glancing her way. She looks so fucking perfect wearing black pants and a slinky cashmere sweater that keeps sliding off her shoulder. It’s meant to hang that way, but she keeps sliding it back like a flash of shoulder might give me ideas. If only she knew. I don’t need to see her bare skin to get ideas—dressed for the office, in my sweatpants, in a bloody burka and I’ll be thinking where my mouth has been. The places I’ve licked and sucked. The noises she makes when I discover something new that she likes. The experience kept me awake well into the night. Maybe it’s little wonder I continued being an arsehole this morning.
Fucking Hinge. I wonder if I can persuade the board to buy the company just so I can close it down.
“What’s funny?”
I realize she’s looking at me, and the scoff in my chest turns to a sigh. She is so fucking lovely. “I was just thinking my Mars Bar stealing day. I was terrified the old bloke would chop my hand off.”
“Oh wow!”
“Luckily, his wife intervened and said she’d just tell my mum.”
“What did your mom have to say?”
“Put it this way, it might’ve been easier to have my hand chopped off.” I shake my head. “Polly was like a water fountain. She couldn’t believe she’d raised such a deviant.”
“If only she knew, huh?” This time, her smile is more like her own. I tighten my fingers around the steering wheel because I almost reached out for her hand.
She’s not dating anyone. Fuck that idea. But we both entered this with our own agendas, comes my next unwelcome thought.
Mimi wants to experience a side of life that was unavailable to her before. She wants to explore her sexuality. She might want to cuddle, even sleep in my bed, but she’s trying to limit the potential for being hurt. She’s going back to Florida. I have to remember that.
“That’s the park,” I find myself saying, desperate to keep the strained silence at bay.
“Trees. Climbing frame. Swing.” Her cheeky gaze slides my way. “Your story checks out.”
“All right, smart arse. I was just making conversation,” I say, biting back my grin.
“Brin and I used to ride our skateboards at the skate park until Heather wanted to tag along with us.”
“And you didn’t want that?” She turns her body toward me, her left foot hooking behind her right calf.
“It’s not cool to have your little sister tagging along after you.”
“Just what every little sister wants to hear.” She laughs at my expression. “You must’ve been kinder to other people’s little sisters because you were nothing but nice to me.”
“I’m still nothing but nice to you,” I say in a low purr. “Very nice. In fact, I seem to remember you paying me a lot of compliments this morning.” I realize, maybe for the first time, that reference to our joined pasts no longer raises the specter of Connor. Guilt, I guess.
“You weren’t very nice to my ass.”
“And you loved it.”
“You can’t say things like that,” she says, succumbing to a beautiful blush.
“I want to feast on your arse. Can I say that?”
“Stop!”
“The way it moves when I smack it—”
“Oh nice!” she splutters. “Tell me I have a fat ass, why don’t you?”
In response, I slide down the window and much to her mortification, belt out a few discordant lines of Sir Mix-A-Lot’s ‘Baby got Back.’”
“You are something else.” She gives a disparaging shake of her head.
“And you have an arse that’s a dream.”