Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
But seriously, I can’t believe we went to the same high school! I was shy, but not that shy. And I had eyes. I would have remembered a hottie like this roaming the halls or throwing footballs across the field or jumping into pools, or whatever kind of sports thing he was into. Some jocks choose the jock life later, but Cutie looks like the kind who’s been going hard at sports his entire life.
Maybe he graduated a few years ahead of me?
Or behind?
“You were a freshman when I was a senior!” I announce, pointing at his face, the tension in my shoulders easing as I finally figure it out. I probably would have realized right away if the Trash Panda weren’t already going to my head. “That’s why I don’t recognize you. You grew! You were probably small and slim and waiting for puberty to up your testosterone, and now…you’re big.” I spread my fingers wide in a ta-da motion. “Case closed. I’m a detective.”
He grins, and my chair suddenly feels wobbly. Or maybe that’s the earth moving because—woah, that’s my kind of smile. I feel that big, crinkle-eyed grin from lips to my toes as he drawls, “Try sixth grade, but close.”
My brows shoot up. “Oh, wow, so you’re…”
“Twenty-six,” he supplies while I struggle to math the math.
“Oh, okay.” I cock my head. “That’s not so bad. Twelve grade and sixth grade sounds criminal. But twenty-six and thirty-two are…” I trail off, realizing that I’m saying the quiet part out loud.
His grin widens. “Thirty-two is great. And I like that you’re doing the ‘is he old enough to consider kissing’ math out loud. Big fan of inside thoughts becoming outside thoughts.”
My cheeks go hot, but not with pleasure, not embarrassment. “Yeah? You like that I’m a dirty old woman who might think you’re cute?”
He laughs, and it’s hot, too, nearly as hot as the low, husky sound he makes in his throat as he leans in to ask, “Just ‘might?’ I’m not a sure thing yet?”
I shake my head, pulse picking up as his forest-in-summer cologne floods my senses. Even with a hint of Trash Panda breath, he smells delicious.
Hell, considering how much I love this nasty drink, that might even be a plus.
“Not yet,” I purr, “but you’re a contender, kid.”
“Thanks. That’s good to hear.”
His mouth is so close to mine, I can’t help letting my gaze drift down to his lips as I add, “But there’s one thing I need to figure out first.”
“What’s that?” he murmurs, leaning even closer, until I can feel the heat of his mouth on mine, and the chances of a Bar Make Out Event enter threat level orange.
“How we know each other.” My breath catches as his big hand settles on my knee, making things low in my belly tighten. My panties are in imminent danger as I add in a breathier voice, “Because I didn’t hang out with sixth graders when I was a senior in high school.” I roll my eyes. “I mean, well, except this kid I used to—”
I jerk my head back so fast, I nearly tip my stool over as I blurt out, “Parker?”
He grabs the arms of my chair, guiding me safely onto four legs as he grins again. “There you go. I knew you’d figure it out eventually.”
“Leo Parker.” I blink. “From Rose Hip Lane?” I blink again. “With the Pokémon card collection, who liked to have the crusts cut off his grilled cheese?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, but I mean, I don’t live there anymore. And I donated my Pokémon cards to charity before high school and got way less picky about sandwich crust… But yeah. That’s me,” he says, like this isn’t a disaster.
“I used to be your babysitter,” I say, horrified that I nearly developed a wet-panty situation for sweet Leo Parker, my little buddy with the chaotic parents and love of watching sweet cartoons long after other boys his age were all about violent video games.
“Yes, you sure did,” he says again, in a tone that suggests he’s concerned that I might have had too much to drink.
“I’m not drunk,” I shoot back as I grip his wrist, moving his hand from my knee to his. Once the dangerous, tingle-inducing hand is back where it belongs, I assure him, “I’m simply shocked and appalled and not about to kiss a sweet little boy I used to—”
Before I can finish, Parker’s mouth is on mine.
And…the world is no longer the same.
Have you ever had a truly perfect dream? I’m talking a once-a-year, all-the-stars-have-aligned-to-bless-you kind of dream where everyone you’ve lost is still with you, you’re having a fantastic time, and the entire world feels fresh and new, with no mistakes in it? Then you wake up, remember that you live alone in a shithole, and all the mistakes you’ve made come rushing back, assuring you that you’ll never be fresh and new again?