Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Remy: I was getting around to responding to the rest! And I know, Flo. I know my dad is a lot. And yeah, he’s probably helped fuck me up a little, but he didn’t mean to, and he’s the only family I have left. But you’re also right about the rest of it. What he thinks doesn’t matter. Stone is the one who matters.
Flo: And you, Remy. You matter.
Remy: I know, but I’m not worried about me. I know Stone won’t let me down. He’s too good.
Flo: So are you. That man was glowing through our entire lesson. Every time he got to touch you, every time you touched him or teased him or made him laugh, it was obvious he felt like the luckiest man in the world. You make him happy, girl. The only question is, does he do the same for you?
Remy: He does. Probably happier than I’ve ever been. I caught myself humming while going over contracts this morning, and I hate contracts.
Flo: And he supports your goals?
Remy: He does. He celebrates my wins like they’re his wins, and he always has.
Flo: And we already know he has a magnificent ass. If the dicking down is even half as magnificent, he’s a keeper, and you should put a ring on it, Toot Sweet.
Remy: The dicking down is even MORE magnificent.
Flo: NO!
Remy: Yes. The dicking down is flat out life-changing, in fact. Multiple O’s every time and four times on Sundays.
Flo: You wretched little bitch. I am SO JEALOUS. But also, so happy for you. Make it happen. Tell him how you feel. Reach for the stars. Sparkle fingers, etc. And when you’re done pouring out your heart, text me to tell me everything.
Now! My turn to be needy. I’m going to send you pictures of three couches. I need you to rank them from most hideous to least. I’m in urgent need of a new one and can’t wait for the company that handcrafted my old couch from angel hair and artisan-ally harvested elm limbs or whatever the hell they use that takes so damned long.
Remy: Gotcha. Lay them on me. And Flo? Thanks for the straight talk. I appreciate it.
Flo: The talk was real, doll, not straight. I couldn’t talk straight if I tried. Which I’m about to prove when you realize every couch we’re considering is pink.
Remy: Wow. So pink. The bubblegum of it all. It burns my eyes a little.
Flo: I know, but it’s going to look so good against my teal accent wall. I’m telling you. No other color will do.
I vote for the least Barbie Dream House-esque couch, thank Flo again, then force my focus back to work for the rest of the day.
But excitement simmers just below the surface, making the hours crawl by.
I’m still scared, but I’m also ready.
Sure.
Five o’clock can’t come soon enough…
Chapter 12
Stone
I’m early for my meeting with Remy.
About twenty minutes early, in fact…
It looks thirsty, over-eager, but I’m too wound up to care.
I’ve been rehearsing this conversation in my head since lunch, imagining all the different ways it might play out until my stomach is in knots.
Now, I’m just ready for it to be over. Ready for her to pop my deluded hope balloons and bring me plummeting back to earth. After all, Rem made it abundantly clear from day one that she didn’t want to be anyone’s girlfriend, let alone their happily ever after.
But fuck…When I think about ever after, I don’t see it being happy with anyone but her. She’s my person, the one I want to love, laugh with, and lick for the rest of my life.
“Love, laugh, lick,” I mutter to myself. “Someone should put that on a t-shirt.”
Reminding myself of the look on her face in the storage room this morning and how good things have been between us lately, how honest and real, I take a breath and reach for the door handle. Remy won’t mind if I’m a little early. And if she’s still on the phone, I’ll just park my ass on the little couch in the corner and wait for her to be done.
I haven’t zoned out on my phone in days, and I’m probably overdue for a doom scroll through whatever horrific news is slouching toward Bethlehem to be born.
“Hey,” I say softly as I push inside. “I’m a little early but—”
The words die in my throat as my mouth goes dry.
Because there Remy is, standing by her desk in nothing but a lacy black bra and matching underwear, her back to me as she rummages through a gym bag on her chair. My jaw drops as I take in the delicate curve of her spine, her toned shoulders, and the perfect round deliciousness of her ass in those barely-there panties.
I close the door behind me with a firm snick, making sure no one heading home down this stretch of hallway catches a glimpse.