Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“A bath?” She raises an eyebrow, clearly still cautiously deciding if she wants to join me. “And this is your grand plan to prove you’re serious about things?”
“I mean, it’s not the best but it’s a start. I can feed you, too—there are a few meals in the fridge.” Not meals that I made, but meals just the same. Ha!
I kiss her on the forehead. “So what do you say? Drop Wyatt at her dad’s and then head over so I can spoil you?”
Chapter 34
Margot
He wants to spoil me?
I mean—if he insists . . .
I run my fingers over the fabric of the pajamas he has laid out on his massive bed—my first time in his bedroom—staring down at a matching set. His and hers.
Dex’s.
Mine.
“How did you get jammies so soon? Did you assume I would cave this fast?”
He sits on the edge of the bed, looking all big and cute and like I want to climb in his lap . . .
“An assistant. He was here earlier when I called on my way home from the park.” Dex smiles. “I was driving at least fifteen over the speed limit to get here, though. Surprised I didn’t get pulled over.”
Dang. He works quick.
I pick up the pajamas and hold them up to my chest.
Dex’s is a two-piece set, top and bottom, and mine is more of a nightgown but with matching material. Baby blue with little stars and moons.
“I figured if we’re doing a sleepover thing, we might as well do it right.” He comes up behind me, sliding his hands around my waist, and I have to crane my neck to peer into his eyes. “I had him pick them up because you deserve to be spoiled.”
Damn right, I do.
“Are you one of those guys who likes matching Christmas pajamas and stuff with your family?”
He shrugs. “I think I mentioned that my family isn’t close—but yeah, if I’m at a buddy’s house for Christmas, we’ve done the matching-group thing.”
That I would pay to see.
“Flattery and pajamas—very smooth. It will get you some places,” I tease, holding up the nightgown. “So, what’s the plan? A movie marathon, or are we going for the full sleepover experience with face masks and maybe a little gossip?”
“Well, no. First, I have something for you.”
Another something? Say more.
I wait as he disappears into another room, returning with an envelope and holding it out for me.
“What’s this?”
I mean, obviously it’s a card. But what’s inside it? And when did he have time to run to the card store if he didn’t have time to buy the pajamas himself?
My thumb peels up the edge of the paper, tearing it so that I can pull the card out, and a little tingle of disbelief bubbles up inside my throat.
“Did you . . . make this?” I stare at the paper in my hands, at the construction paper heart and the glitter that falls from it like confetti. Foam hearts also adorn it, stuck all over, weighing it down.
“Yeah.” He shuffles his feet, suddenly looking bashful.
Margot, his manly scrawl begins. Let’s go back to the beginning and pretend I wasn’t an asshole. Will you go on a first date with me all over again?
Please check one. Yes or No
I don’t know what to say because this is a first for me. My daughter has made me cards before, but a man? Never.
“You are so freaking cute!” I throw my arms around him, kissing his jawline, landing my lips on his mouth. “Yes. Yes, I’ll go back to the beginning with you, and we can pretend this is our first date.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.” I kiss him again. “You do realize, though, that I don’t put out on the first date.”
“You don’t? Oh.” His face falls. “Well fuck that, then.”
I shake my head, laughing. “Maybe I could make an exception?”
“Good, because I have stuff planned for us.” His grin widens.
“Stuff?”
“You know. Movies, snacks. And if you’re up for it, we can do some of that other stuff too.” He wiggles his eyebrows like a creep, and I giggle.
And other stuff . . .
“Oh yeah. Like what?”
His massive shoulders shrug. “Thought maybe you could take a bath while I sit and talk to you? I have a huge tub.”
Oh? My ears like the sound of that. “I haven’t taken a bath in ages. My tub is small and not all that relaxing.”
Eagerly I follow him to the master bathroom—the sight has my breath catching. Shiny tile. Gold hardware. An enormous glass-enclosed shower.
The room is spacious—larger than my entire bedroom at home—the soak tub like a small pool. He already lit candles (or his assistant did) and they cast a soft, flickering light that makes everything seem dreamlike. The flames reflect against the surrounding glossy tile.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “This is incredible.” My fingers glide along the edge of the tub. “It’s like being at an actual spa.”