Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
“You can believe me for more than a second. I was telling you the truth. Nothing is sexier than the truth shared between two trusting,” I say, moving closer to her on the couch, “consensual adults.” My breathing changes, the mere proximity to her affecting me. “I want to kiss you.”
“I thought we were practicing flirting?”
“Practicing?” I sit forward, resting my forearms on my knees. “Yes, right. Practicing.”
“We can move on from that if you want. If you think I’m ready.”
Ready. I’m so ready, but there’s no way I’m rushing my time with her away. “We’ll take it slow, and get it right.”
“How am I doing so far?”
“Grand. You almost fooled me, but I saw through the act.” I’m such an idiot.
“How old are you, Hardy Richard?”
“Twenty-eight. How old are you?”
“Twenty-five in three weeks.”
“You were born around Christmas?”
“People call me a Christmas baby, but. I was born on Christmas Eve. My mom said I wasn’t due until New Year’s Day, but I couldn’t wait to start my life.”
“Your mom sounds a lot like mine.”
“I bet you were a hellion.” She rests her head back on the couch, going and looking all beautiful again.
A smirk slides into place. “Why do you say that?”
“You’re handsome and personable. You’re running a successful business so clearly you’re smart. You tick all the boxes of having the world fall at your feet.”
Leaning back next to her, I kick my feet up on the coffee table. “Everyone has their struggles. Mine just came a little after yours.”
The mood shifts and she asks, “When did you lose your virginity?”
“Sixteen.”
“That’s not as early as I was thinking. You’re such a pro at this relationship stuff that I thought you’d say something like fourteen or younger. How’d you lose it? Was it romantic with a girl you loved?”
“Nope. It was at Clara Duncan’s sweet sixteen party. The party was going on upstairs and we snuck down to the basement and ended up having sex on a ratty old couch down there. And since I know you’re going to ask—no, it wasn’t good and I sucked. I came as soon as I touched the tip of my dick to her. I fumbled and thrust into her fast when I panicked. She almost screamed. I never thought to prepare her or to ease in. Yeah, it was pretty awful.”
She’s laughing so hard that it takes a minute for her to get enough air gathered to ask, “Did you date her a long time?”
“I dated her until she broke up with me the next day for Chad Mackenzie. Once it got around school that she put out for me, every dickwad in school was after her.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Not really.” I laugh. The story is too ridiculous not to. Now. Hindsight and all that. “The hottest senior in school approached me a week later asking me to . . .” I stop and look at Virginia.
“What?”
I chuckle. “To help her out.”
Tilting her head, she rolls her eyes, and teases, “I thought I was different.”
You are. “You are.” Shit. I watch her for a reaction, praying it’s a good one.
Her fingers fumble together in her lap, that sweetest of pinks seen even in the low light reaching us from the kitchen. “You say the nicest things, Hardy. You’re really good at this flirting thing.”
Sighing, I realize she thinks I’m saying this as part of the plan, that it’s put on and not real. I take my wine and drink. “Thanks,” I reply, disappointment coating my words. “We should eat before it gets cold.” I never was good at hiding my emotions. Maybe it’s because I hate lying, and liars even more. I try to live my life as honestly as possible. When I screw up, I own it. When I succeed, I own that shit too.
This game we’re playing is dangerous, but it seems only to my heart. So as much as I want to tell her I’m starting to have feelings for her, I’m not ready to lose her. She’s clearly into the asshole, so not only do I find myself now lying, but I’ve also become the liar I loathe.
Stealing a glimpse of her, I realize—She’s totally worth it.
Chapter Nine
Silence stretched across dinner, and I hated it. I don’t want this for us. After another few bites, I tell her, “This might be the best lasagna I’ve ever had.” Truth.
That brightens her spirit. “Really?”
“Really.”
“It’s my great-grandmother’s recipe. She wasn’t Italian but she once told me about a torrid love affair she had with a chef while visiting Rome in the twenties.
Things begin to turn around for us both. I do love me some sexual banter. “Torrid, huh?”
“I think that means she had sex with him against her family’s wishes.”
“I think that means a lot more. How do you feel about torrid?”
“With you?” She sets her plate down and takes a sip of her wine before sitting back and tucking her legs under her.