Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“I’ll grab something for both of us,” I announce as the elevator doors part. “And E-Train?” I stop in the middle of the carpeted hallway and put a hand on his sturdy chest. Normally, I wouldn’t touch him there. I wouldn’t have the right. But after a night of raucous sex, all the rules have changed. “Thank you for everything. Today’s drama wasn’t supposed to be part of the itinerary.”
He doesn’t crack a joke or laugh it off the way that I expect him to. Instead, he leans forward and kisses me right in the center of the forehead. “You’re welcome, Kendrick. Anytime.”
Oh, Eric. If we keep treating each other like a real partner, I’m going to get awfully confused. I pull out my hotel key card and swipe into our suite.
He reaches up and ruffles my hair as the lock clicks open. “You know, it’s cute the way your father calls you pumpkin. As redhead jokes go, I suppose it could be worse.”
“I don’t think it’s a redhead joke,” I say, kicking off my shoes the minute I get inside this suite.
“No?”
I shrug with forced nonchalance. “I’ve heard him call Tessa pumpkin, too.”
He stops short. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
I look up into his gray eyes and slowly shake my head. And this is definitely one of those moments when I’m forced to acknowledge just how bonkers my family is. The first time I heard him call Tessa my childhood nickname, I was so startled that I went into the bathroom of his Marblehead house and cried.
“Motherfucker.” Eric lets out a slow breath. “Do we need a couple hours on the beach, or what?”
“We really, really do.”
An hour later I’m parked on one half of a double lounge chair, watching Eric jog shirtless toward me down the beach. Admiring his sweaty, muscled body in motion would be fantastic from any angle. But when he spots me, he smiles, and it takes the experience to a whole new level.
My stomach does more flips than a pancake breakfast on Sunday morning.
As he closes the distance on powerful legs, several people in my peripheral vision turn to stare. “Lord in heaven,” whispers a female voice from a nearby chair. “Which part of my soul do I have to sell for a piece of that?”
I know this one! You only need to sacrifice your whole heart.
Eric stops running only to thread his way between the beach chairs toward me. He’s still smiling, which causes me to lose a few IQ points. “Hey.” He stops in front of my chair, putting his hands on his muscular hips, right below the V-cut.
“Hey,” I say, and it comes out as a dreamy sigh. “I got us drinks and snacks.” Then I pat the empty half of our lounge chair, like this is the high school cafeteria and I’m trying to entice the hottest jock in school to sit at my lunch table.
Now that I think about it, the whole Wedding Experience is like reliving high school in an alternate universe. The family drama and the perpetual fashion crises are familiar enough. Except I don’t have acne, and I’m fake dating the hottest guy in the senior class.
Eric, oblivious to the emotional roller coaster I’m riding, toes out of his shoes and sets his phone on the chair. “Let me jump in the water for a minute to cool off. Want to come?”
I shake my head a beat too late, distracted by the tiny droplets of sweat on his collarbones.
“Right back,” he says, turning to jog back to the water again. I watch him lope into the shallows and then dive under. And I swear I hear a collective sigh rise up around me as he disappears beneath the waves.
When he returns a few minutes later, I’m rubbing sunblock all over my body, because redheads burn. “Thank you for wearing the green bikini.” He looks me up and down approvingly as he settles onto the chair. “You remembered.”
“Maybe I just don’t have an infinite number of bathing suits.”
He gives me a wolfish smile. “That’s okay, boo. You don’t have to admit that you wore it for me. Do I still get to take it off you later?”
“I think that could be arranged.” I give him what is hopefully a sultry glance. “And look how easily you upgraded yourself from the couch? Pretty devious.”
Eric doesn’t smile, though. His cool gray eyes stare right into my soul, and then he says, “It was never about the mattress, Kendrick. You know that, right?”
“Yeah…” I say brilliantly. “That was just a joke.”
“I hope so,” he whispers. Then he leans back against the chair and puts a hand on my knee. Just casually. Like it belongs there.
And a minute later, I realize I’m holding so still—so he won’t remove his hand—that I’ve forgotten to breathe. “Want an iced tea?” I squeak, taking in air.