Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 69468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Having someone else in the house again was nice. Comforting even, the walls seemingly relaxing from their years-long silent tension to a homey familiarity. Setting the table was another novelty, and my mother’s voice echoed in my mind, prodding me to use the nicer dishes and glasses and real napkins from the hutch where she’d kept such things.
“Nice job.” Carson smiled approvingly at my efforts as he took a seat opposite me at the table.
The steak had turned out decent if a bit hard to cut, and Carson struggled to work the fork and steak knife. I watched him a second too long. He made a frustrated noise.
“Sorry.” Frowning, he glared down at his knife. “Hands don’t listen.”
“No worries.” I knew better than to offer to cut for him, so instead I kept my tone light and my gaze on his face rather than his hands. “Take your time. My stare was because I was just thinking how brains are tricky beasts. Improvements are seldom linear. Take Linus and his progress, and also, how far you’ve come.”
“Getting there.” Carson’s voice was tight before he succeeded in taking a bite of steak. “More to go.”
“Don’t forget to celebrate the wins along the way.” I used an encouraging tone, but Carson merely rolled his eyes.
“You sound like Simone.”
“Guilty.” My smile turned sheepish. Figuring out what to say and how to act around Carson’s limitations was a challenge. I called out others on ableism, yet my own responses were also a work in progress.
After dinner, Carson insisted on helping me with the dishes. Toward the end of my mother’s illness, my father had finally relented and added a dishwasher to the old farm kitchen, one of his few nods to twenty-first-century living. Accordingly, cleanup was relatively fast and easy. My dad’s hat sat on his wall hook, quietly observing our work. What he’d think of Carson, I had no idea, but I preferred to believe my parents would be happy because I was happy.
And I was, a deep satisfaction that went beyond the enjoyment of having a rare guest. Carson wasn’t simply any other friend, a truth made painfully clear as we stared expectantly at each other after putting the last dish in the dishwasher.
“You need to get back?” I shifted my weight from foot to foot. “We could game or…”
“Or.” Carson closed the distance between us with a decisive kiss. Well, that answered that question. I greeted his kiss with a happy sigh. Carson was my favorite kind of kisser, unrestrained and passionate, matching my hunger. His lips were salty, making each kiss like a shot of tequila. Warmth spread throughout my body, muscles loosening and limbs growing heavy.
Still kissing me, Carson fumbled for my shirt snaps, closing off any doubt as to his intentions for the evening.
“I have a bed,” I gasped as he pushed my shirt off my shoulders.
“Show me.” He released me long enough to follow me to the stairs.
I’d needed several years before I’d been comfortable reclaiming my parents’ room. A doozy of a snowstorm had given me the time I needed to clear and paint the bedroom, and a new mattress and bedframe had helped the space slowly feel like mine.
As I opened the door for Carson, though, I was glad I’d made the effort. My queen bed with its polished pine frame was certainly more inviting than the twin in my old room.
“Nice color.” Carson took the barest of seconds to appreciate my light-blue walls before resuming his mission to get me naked. No objections here as long as he did the same. I pulled at his T-shirt as he pushed my jeans down. Helping each other, we fumbled out of our clothes.
Carson clothed was pretty darn awesome. He filled out a T-shirt and jeans with the sort of muscular definition that gave away his ex-military status. Carson naked, however, was simply spectacular. He had less body hair than I did, which meant that much more golden skin to admire. No tats or piercings, but he didn’t need extra adornment to be as appetizing as a porterhouse.
As soon as we were both naked, Carson shoved me to sit on the bed, a meaningful glint in his eye. I stopped him before he could kneel, tumbling him onto the bed with me. His mouth had been wonderful, but I’d always preferred giving to getting. To that end, I had enjoyed showing Carson new things at the hotel in Fort Collins, helping him make up for lost time. That I wanted to be more than a notch on his belt buckle went without saying, but being his first also had appeal.
“Anything else on your bucket list you’d like to try?”
“Everything.” He rolled onto his side so he could grin at me.
“That’s no help.” I groaned. Direction would be nice.