Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 98264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
I pinched the bridge of my nose. I didn’t doubt he was right about that. My fear was I wouldn’t still be in Clovert when Jonathan fucked up, but Nora would. “Will do. Thanks, Leo.”
“No problem. We’ll be in touch.”
He hung up and I sank to the edge of the bed. What the hell was I going to do when I had to leave her there? Why she even still lived in Clovert was a mystery to me, but short of kidnapping her, I had no idea what else I could do about it.
After dragging a shirt on, I called up to the police station to request a copy of the Sean Watkins arrest report. Jonathan wasn’t in the office, but I made sure to ask enough questions and said my name no fewer than a dozen times until I was positive word would get back to him.
I had an hour before I was supposed to be at her house, and while my cock had thankfully gone into hibernation at the thought of my almost eighty-year-old grandpa’s apparent foot fetish, I still had a whole night with Nora to face.
Honestly, that might have been harder than anything else. Literally and figuratively.
Ever punctual, Camden knocked on my door at seven o'clock on the dot. I drew in a deep breath and ran my fingers through my beach waves, taking a second to do one last physical inventory.
Tight, cropped skinny jeans. Check.
A pink silk camisole that was supposed to be worn under a cardigan, but it did great things for my boobs, so I did not want to cover that up. Check.
Black strappy heels—in my own house when I could have gone barefoot. Check.
A smoky eye that looked both seductive and effortless. Check.
A ball of nerves roughly the size of North America vibrating in my chest. Check. Check. Check.
God, why was I so damn nervous? Camden and I had had a great day together. He had been a little distant, but at lunch, it’d felt like he was slowly starting to come out of his shell. When he’d dropped me off at my house, he’d actually pulled into the driveway and walked me to my door, which I’d chalked up as a huge success after my dash at the curb the night before. He’d even given me a one-sided hug. That side not being his left or his right, but rather a hug from my side and a stiff acceptance from him. Whatever. Close enough.
After that, I’d spent the rest of the afternoon cooking. Since my car wouldn’t be ready for a few more days, I’d luckily gone to the grocery store semi-recently and had all the fixings for baked ham, mac and cheese, and a salad. Halfway through making the mac and cheese, I realized Camden’s body didn’t exactly lead me to believe he splurged on anything with carbs or cheese often, so I sautéed up asparagus. While I was doing that, I realized asparagus could be a very divisive vegetable. People either loved it or hated it, and I had no idea which side of the fence Camden landed on, so I then baked two sweet potatoes, stewed some tomatoes, air fried a zucchini, and chugged a glass of wine.
It could be said I was panicking, but it had been a while since I’d been on a date.
Not that Camden’s coming over for dinner was a date or anything.
We were just two friends sharing a meal and a bottle of wine—or the three quarters of a bottle that was left, anyway.
I momentarily considered chugging another glass then talked myself out of it and headed for the door.
“Hi,” I chirped entirely too high-pitched for it to have been perceived as natural on any level.
He was in jeans again, but this time, he’d paired them with a button-down, the sleeves rolled up to show off the subtle veins on his muscular forearms. Jesus, I was seriously hard up, but when had veins become so sexy?
He opened his mouth, and I was positive he’d planned for words to follow, but as his gaze raked down my body and back up again, nothing came out.
I grinned, patting myself on the back for the extra time and thought I’d put into getting ready. “You want to come in?”
“Yeah,” he replied, stepping inside and robotically lifting a bottle of wine in my direction. “Here.”
Wow. Two whole syllables. Oh, yeah, I’d done good getting ready for my date.
Fuck. Not a date.
Not.
A.
Date.
Though the night we’d spent together in the hot tub hadn’t been a date, either, and it had turned out incredible.
“Thanks.” I shut the door and took the wine from his hand. “I already opened a bottle, but I’ll pop this one in the fridge.” I headed for the kitchen, putting an extra sway in my hips for his benefit.