Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
I shot her the Cheshire Cat grin. “You sure about that?”
“You horny little witch.”
“Guilty as charged.”
Fortunately, the conversation shifted after that, away from my parents, my sister, and my nameless date. But while I worked on rings and Maven filled me in on how she and Vince were doing, my mind couldn’t help but race.
But it wasn’t my family drama I was consumed with.
It was the fact that I was going on a date with Carter Fabri…
And what the hell it meant that I was excited to see him again.
Flying Colors
Livia
“…and that’s why I can’t ever show my face at a Chili’s again.”
I blinked at Carter over the rim of my cocktail glass, lips twitching. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Oh, but I only wish I was,” he said. “Listen, I thought it was the smoothest line in the book at the time.”
“To tell the waitress she had jalapeño eyes?! Carter, what does that even mean? Like her eyes were… spicy?”
“And green!”
“Oh, my God.”
“It gets worse.”
“Can it possibly?”
“As she stared at me with the very same blank stare you have right now, I followed up her silence with, ’So, this Triple Dipper, can I get it with the egg rolls, sliders, and your phone number?’”
“Carter…” I pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head, shoulders bouncing as I tried to fight the laughter that was impossible to contain.
“Admit it… that’s kind of slick.”
“Like an oily car salesman.”
Carter grinned, boyish and unguarded, the firelight dancing in the gold flecks of his eyes. Although our evening had started with him quite tense, he was relaxed now — loose in his seat, fingers curled casually around his whiskey glass, one ankle hooked over his knee like this was just another night out with the guys.
But it was a test, and another lesson — one I was finding myself enjoying more than I anticipated.
In the week since I’d last seen him, I’d been so busy with work I’d barely had time to think about anything else. We’d had two Osprey players in our chairs, a new set of veneers rush-ordered for a local newscaster whose wedding photoshoot got moved up, and one of my regulars decided mid-cleaning that she wanted to “just try” a full Invisalign consult — during my lunch hour. On top of that, my associate called out sick three days in a row, leaving me to juggle our packed schedule solo. I’d been running on caffeine and that post-orgasm high Carter had left me with.
But that hadn’t been the only thing I’d taken home that night.
He’d also gotten under my skin with his whole comment about not taking on the world alone. Whenever I wasn’t focused on work, it was hard not to let my thoughts drift to the sincerity in his eyes, to the careful caress of his hand against my jaw.
And when those thoughts did pop up, I smacked them down like a basketball I was guarding the net from.
Two-million dollars.
Eggs frozen.
Set up for life.
I control when I have a kid and how.
I control every lesson between me and Carter.
This is a means to an end.
By the time Carter picked me up for our date lesson, I had myself back in check.
We were each two drinks in now, tucked in the corner of a rooftop bar that overlooked the Hillsborough River, the Tampa skyline glittering like scattered sequins in front of us. String lights arched overhead. A firepit flickered at our feet, our chairs side by side and angled toward one another. Music thrummed softly from the indoor lounge, muffled by glass doors and cool January air.
It was cozy and intimate and the perfect setting for a date.
It was also supremely uncomfortable for me.
Carter didn’t pick up on that — at least, not that I could tell. On the outside, I was the dominant instructor as usual. And yes, I did feel like I was back in control.
But I also felt like I was dancing around a room of eggshells.
I’d agreed to his request for this date lesson mostly out of my need to vacate his house after our last one. But I’d also been curious. He’d said he needed my help, and that was part of our agreement.
I just wasn’t as confident when it came to this part of intimacy.
I typically skipped dates, which was why my best friend had been so shocked when I mentioned I was going on one. Why waste time pretending like I cared about what my future sub did for work, or making up some lie about my own background, knowing I’d never feel safe enough to share the truth, when all we both really wanted was to get naked?
But Carter was different. He wasn’t like me. He was… good. Pure. Eager to please.
He’d make a great boyfriend to someone someday. A great husband.