Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 112850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
The scent of bacon lingered in the air. It wasn’t freshly fried. I knew the different stages of breakfast smells very well from all the years I’d spent at the bar, in a hangover state, lurching at the layers of smells in meal preparation.
I cracked my eyes open, seeing nothing but the muted lamp light on my side of the bed. A glass of water sat in the middle of the nightstand, a piece of paper was there too, my name written in scribble at the top.
My reservations about being there with Slade caused me to bypass the note, rising enough to sit on the edge of the mattress, my bare feet on the floor. A yawn slipped free. Lord knew how much I needed the rest, sleep had become a tricky game for me, but not last night.
Dammit if Slade wasn’t a great guy. I wasn’t sure I’d ever met anyone who was as honest, confident in his approach, and paid such close attention to another’s well-being. It was weird.
I tilted to the side, looking at the note. Somehow, refusing to lift the page gave me strength, but my curiosity got the best of me in seconds flat.
You’re a challenge for me. I decided you’re doing it on purpose. I couldn’t sleep and could only lie here for so long. I’ve left your clothes on the chair. Shower then come find me. I’ll be somewhere in the house. Don’t just leave.
No signature at the bottom. I guessed that was okay. It made it hard to pretend that the note didn’t come from him with only us two in the house.
So Slade Whitaker did laundry. My laundry. I didn’t even do my own laundry, a woman came and got it once a week from where I shoved it inside a trash bag. It was returned fresh and crisp, ready to wear, most of it was placed back into the trash bag.
My gaze shifted to the chair, the clothes were there, tossed over the cushion, my shoes stationed together underneath.
Instead of getting twisted about anything really, I followed the directions on the note. For the second time, I confirmed the shower was top-tier, keeping me in there much longer than any other shower I remembered. The wand alone was spectacular.
Once dressed, I stood outside the bedroom door. Left led to the outside where my truck was parked waiting. Right was likely where Slade waited. Perhaps an offered choice. If I left now, did that drive my point home about only being here for sex?
Maybe I read too much into the simple instructions.
The decision took me in the direction of food and coffee.
The house was overly large, so much space. The kitchen was the hub of the home. It led in several different directions to other bedrooms, an office, dining room, and living room. The plate of food on the counter was still warm. Slade had gone for an egg and tortilla scramble with crispy bacon. If it was done correctly, the beans were Ranch Style and the jalapeño peppers went unseeded to add the extra zing.
I picked up the plate and fork, my stomach growling in appreciation of something homemade that wasn’t the bar’s food.
I scooped several bites in my mouth as I went toward the muted sounds in the back of the house. Slade was there, TV on, remote in hand, his head resting back against the top edge of the sofa. The fun part? He was sleeping with his mouth wide open. It helped humanize this gorgeous, kind, sexy in every way man...
Opportunity shifted my thoughts. I wanted to mess with him. I’d do it in a second if the other part of my brain would shut up about the guy being special. And he was special. Slade didn’t need the likes of my emotional instability fucking up his sabbatical.
I recognized that, at this point, I might not be able to stay away from him.
It was two months of sex, nothing more.
Slade could break up the lameness of his life. Weird that he enjoyed cleaning.
“Hey,” I said, reaching down in an unguarded move. Instead of knocking his head like I’d do anyone else, my fingers traveled through the silky dark strands. “I’m leavin’.”
Slade blinked several times. Other than that, he woke up alert, fluidly rolling to his feet. His voice was husky, deep, rich, the way he normally spoke. No fatigue in the sound.
“You got my note,” Slade said, rounding the sofa.
“Yeah. Pretty impressed with the laundry service and the meal. It’s good. Made like every campout I’ve ever been on,” I said, offering a cheers with my fork before taking another bite.
“When I come here in the summer, I’ve liked doing the cooking and housework. It’s weird, I know.” Slade raked through his hair, fingering the pieces in place. It seemed a natural move if he had longer hair. The dark shadow of a beard covered his lower face.