Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
It’s a moonless, star-filled night, though, and the bright lights of the party make it way harder to see than I expected.
On my third lap, I’m about to give up, but the sound of a slap gets my attention and does it right quick.
Searching the area of the sound, I finally catch a glimpse of Josie’s back and Clay’s surprised face, a trail of red lipstick on his lips.
Holy shit. Looks like I might not be the only Ellis to do the slap-and-kiss combo in this town.
I walk toward them carefully, ready to intervene if necessary, but I don’t make it more than a step and a half before the need to stop fills me right up.
“Dammit, Clay,” Josie whisper-yells, her heartbroken voice making me put a hand to my chest. “You can’t fix this. You can’t will it away. You can’t turn back time.”
“Jose—”
“No!” she snaps, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “After it happened, you kept right on living, but I’ll never be the same.”
I don’t know what’s going on, but I know one thing—it’s time Josie and I really talked about her divorce.
Time’s up, sis. It’s your turn to do the talking.
…
Want more? Keep reading for two bonus scenes!
Slap & Kiss
Norah
Saturday, August 7th
“What the hell is your problem?” I yell toward Bennett as I close the distance to his truck, approaching from the passenger side with his stupid groceries in hand.
I should’ve left the grocery store and not looked back, and if it weren’t for the fit of rage so encompassing I bought his groceries without noticing, I would have.
Anger pours into my veins as I remember how much of an asshole he was to me just fifteen minutes ago, and I push up onto my toes, leaning over the hood.
He has the audacity to groan and look annoyed. With me. “Good grief, you’re like mold, you know that? I can’t seem to get rid of you.”
This guy. This fucking guy.
“God, you are so infuriating!” I slap my palms against the sides of my thighs, the bag of Danimals and eggs slinging wildly. “When I realized I bought your groceries, I stayed in an effort to mend fences. I thought you might need them, but maybe I’ll just egg your truck instead!”
“You do that, and you’re going to find yourself in a whole shitload of trouble, sweetheart.” He rounds the truck and snags the bag from my hands, as if I’d actually follow through with my threat.
I pull the bag back toward me, but he just yanks it right back. And we repeat that circuit a good five times, each back-and-forth only infuriating me further. It’s like we’re in freaking grade school at this point!
I try with all my might to get it from his steady grip, my mind convinced that I’m actually going to egg his truck as soon as I can get the carton out of the bag, but the bastard’s strength is too much for me.
The bag is secure in his hands, but there is nothing secure about the way I’m feeling.
I am so mad, so insanely mad, that before I can even think, my hand is lifting in the air and slapping straight across the side of his face. It’s not enough, though, and I raise my hand again, swinging forcefully until Bennett grabs me by the arm and stops me.
My breathing is ragged and my heart erratic as I try to calm myself down, but Bennett surprises the hell out of me by stepping forward and kissing me.
His mouth pressed hard against mine, he kisses me like we aren’t two people in the middle of burning each other to the ground but the exact opposite—twin flames, melded to one another.
It’s unexpected and hauntingly good, and I’m ashamed to admit, he’s not the only one actively participating. Clearly, I’ve lost my mind.
But fuck. Bennett Bishop tastes like cinnamon and sugar and all of the dirty, naughty things that match the fantasies I’d have about him if I let myself. Our kiss is angry, at first, our lips fighting against each other in hard, passionate movements. But when he slides his tongue into my mouth, it’s with the kind of hot fervor that makes a gasp bubble up from my lungs.
My hands are in his hair and my breasts are pressed to his chest, and I swear on everything, a deep groan escapes his throat and enters my mouth like a whisper.
His lips are silk, and his tongue is an aphrodisiac, and an aching throb between my thighs has me taking notice of how good this feels—how good he feels.
I wish I was a better woman in this situation, but there’s something about this man that makes me lose complete control.
I’ve never slapped anyone in my life, but I slapped him.