Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“Okay, ladies… I’m going to get back to my date now,” I say, extricating myself. “Appreciate your support of me and the Titans.”
“Thank you,” the brunette gushes, her eyes playful and mischievous. “I just love how you’re doing this whole average-girl experiment—it’s so real of you.”
Another cringe at the backhanded slap about Winnie. This isn’t my experiment into average, it’s hers. But what they don’t know is that Winnie is anything but.
I move to Winnie, take her hand and look back to the women. “If you’re saying she’s average, then you’re clearly not paying attention.”
Their jaws drop, mouths sagging, and Winnie makes a strangled sound low in her throat.
The redhead recovers first and stammers a defense of her friend, “I’m sure that’s not what she meant.”
“She meant it,” I say, but I’m already turning me and Winnie toward my Tahoe. My hand squeezes hers and I look down at her. “Sorry about that. The whole fame thing isn’t what I wanted to be a part of our evening, but what that woman said was just mean.”
To my surprise, Winnie smiles back, and it’s as bright as any other smile she’s bestowed upon me. “It’s part of your life. I get it. But I definitely need to figure it out. It’s a little jarring.”
“But what she said—”
Winnie shakes her head. “That’s the price of putting yourself out there. I see the negative comments and I know there will be more.”
“That’s fair,” I say, keeping my voice low. “But I’ll always try to protect our space. Even if that space includes fangirls who think jockstraps are personality traits.”
Her mouth twitches. “I’m still working through the Cheetos visual. Don’t throw too much at me.”
I throw my head back and laugh. We reach the Tahoe and I open her door. “You are the most un-average woman I’ve ever met. Please don’t ever aspire to normality with me.”
“I’ll try my best,” she quips and then turns to face me fully. “You always this smooth?”
“Nope,” I admit. “Only with you.”
“I don’t want the night to be over,” she says, and my heart slams against my breastbone.
“What do you want to do?”
Winnie’s gaze slides back to the restaurant. I flick a glance that way, but the women are gone. She’s quiet for a beat and then her attention is back on me. “Want to come to my house for a nightcap?”
“Is that something I have to wear on my head?”
“No. Just an antiquated way of asking you to come into my house for a drink after a date, which may or may not lead to something more than conversation. I honestly don’t know what we’ll do when we get there.”
I don’t know either and don’t have a single expectation. I mean… I know what I hope will happen.
But I won’t push for it.
“Okay,” I murmur. “Let’s go to your place and at a minimum, have a drink and keep talking.”
Winnie smiles and starts to climb in the passenger seat but hesitates. She turns partially my way and next thing I know, her hands are circling my neck and she’s pulling me down for a kiss. It’s the first time she’s initiated one and I’m here for it.
There’s no hesitation. No wondering if it’s the right move. The city lights stretch behind her and she’s warm in my arms, her lips parting against mine like she’s been waiting for this all night.
The kiss deepens, her hands sliding under my coat to grip my sweater. Her mouth moves against mine and our tongues meet, a tiny moan bubbling free from her.
She pulls back breathless, looking up at me with bleary eyes. “This isn’t a normal date.”
“No,” I agree, brushing my fingers along her jaw. “But it feels real, right?”
She nods once. “Yeah. It does.”
“Then that’s all that matters.”
I kiss her again, slow and deep, until the air goes hot between us despite the chill. I don’t extend it because otherwise we’ll stay out here all night kissing. “Come on… let’s get you home. We won’t make it a late night as you have to be up early.”
CHAPTER 18
Winnie
The second I unlock my front door and step inside, Buttermilk starts thumping his back leg. I move quickly to his pen to unlatch the gate and he barrels toward Lucky like a fuzzy cannonball. He circles his ankles once before pausing dramatically in front of the man—sniffs his shoe—and promptly drops a load of pellets right on top of it. Because they’re dry and round, most of them roll right off onto the floor.
“Oh my God,” I groan, mortified. “Buttermilk, no. Not the shoes.”
Lucky looks down, blinking. “Did he just…?”
“Poop? On your shoe? Yes.” I scoop the rabbit into my arms, where he has the audacity to look smug. “Sometimes he likes to assert dominance over men who are interested in me.”