Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
I clear my throat, launch into my pitch, and tell him what I have in mind.
He nods excitedly, raising both arms in victory. “You had me at puppies.”
“I did?”
“There’s literally nothing more to say.”
“You’ll do it?” I ask, my voice rising in excitement. I’m not asking him to build houses in the one hundred ten-degree sun, but I didn’t expect a yes in seconds when I pitched him on my idea for a charity calendar benefiting local animal rescues. Twelve months of photos of Jones, posing with adorable animals.
“You’re surprised?”
“Yes, but I’m also thrilled. I just didn’t know if you needed to talk to anyone first.”
“Nope. I don’t need to consult Ford or Trevor or anyone. I want to do this.”
“Seriously?” My smile widens.
He laughs, leans forward, and pats my hand. “You say that like it’s a surprise I’d do something nice. I did your bachelor auction last year, and the year before.”
I flash back to the auction last season. I was tense, wound up before it started. I wanted it to be an amazing event. Jones found me backstage and reassured me that everything would be great. For a moment, I linger on that sweet memory of his voice, his kind words. That didn’t feel like toying with me at all. It felt real.
“You were great at the auction. It meant a lot to me,” I say softly.
He squeezes my hand, and I tense, then give in to the momentary sensation of his big hand covering mine, reassuring me once more.
“And I’m all in with this, too.” He lets go of my hand, and I wish he’d touch me again, even though I can’t let my mind go there.
“This is a one hundred percent volunteer project,” I say, making sure he’s clear on the terms. When I mentioned the project to my photographer friend Jess she offered to waive her fee and work for a day since one of the shoots coincides with her trip here. “No way. Remember—know your worth,” I’d said to her.
“I can be bribed in dogs though,” she’d said, since she’s a huge dog person. Another reason I adore her.
But while she’s being paid, Jones wouldn’t be. “You’d be donating your time freely,” I tell him.
“Puppies, Jillian. Puppies.”
I smile. “There will be kittens, too.”
“Meow,” he says, brandishing his hands as claws. His huge hands. My mind flickers briefly to how those hands would look wrapped around my waist. They’re so big, they’d cover me, hold me, dig into my hips. A ribbon of heat unfurls in my body, and I can feel my cheeks flush.
“You okay? You just thinking about me and all the pussycats?” he asks with a wink.
God, I’m thinking about him making me purr, and it’s filthy. It’s wanton. The way my body reacts to him is dangerous.
I need to keep my head in the game. “I am. I have some great shots planned. We’ll do them all in the Bay Area to support local rescues. It shouldn’t take up too much time. Probably a week or ten days, and it would end shortly before training camp begins.”
“Sounds perfect. I only have one stipulation.”
My heart sags. There’s always a catch. “Sure. What is it?”
“We need to take one of the pictures at the Miami Humane Society.”
“That’s in Florida,” I say, after a beat.
“It is?” he asks in mock surprise.
“Jones,” I chide.
“I had no idea where it was located. Are you sure it’s in Florida?”
“Ha ha.”
“Where is Florida? Is that all the way on the other side of the country?”
I sigh playfully and then hold up my hands in surrender. “Why do you want to—?” Then I remember. “Cletus is a hurricane dog.”
Last year, Jones helped one of the local rescues that had taken in animals evacuated from shelters during the big hurricane. He’d donated time then adopted a dog.
“It would mean a lot to me if we could support the shelter where he’s from. I love adoption.”
I smile. I know we’re not talking about the same type of adoption, but still, I say, “From one adoptee to another, I completely understand. Though China is a little further away than Miami.”
“Just a bit,” he says. “But I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too,” I say, since California is home. I don’t know much about the city of Jingzhou where I was born, and that’s okay with me. My white American parents adopted me when I was nine months old, so I’ve been raised as a California woman. But with an appreciation for her Chinese roots—something my parents tried to instill in me by staying connected with other families who had adopted children from China. They went to lots of events and get-togethers with other adoptive parents, so I got to know other adopted kids, and many of their parents often tried to bring some cultural traditions into the home.