Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Because it tastes delicious, like I bet you do.
And what the fuck is up with my runaway thoughts?
I shrug, making the drink seem like no big deal, when really, it’s my thoughts I’m trying to downplay. “I figure anyone who wears a robe to walk her dog likes pineapple.”
Her brow knits. “Huh. Why does that feel like a dig?”
I ignore the comment, nodding to the smoothie so I can stay in control of the convo. “Try it. I guarantee it’s good. It’s got honey and coconut too.”
“Did those seem like my speed too?”
“You know what? They did.”
“Aww, thank you. You must think I’m sweet.”
“Take the smoothie, Skylar,” I say, keeping my tone stern, ignoring the teasing bait, even though she’s damn good at doling it out.
As I hand over the drink, I glance at the mug in her other hand. Holy shit, it has a lid.
“I see you’ve discovered lids for coffee cups.”
Her smirk is downright cat-who-ate-the-canary. “Actually, I learned how to make a kale smoothie for my new client.” I take the mug from her, peel off the top and…she’s not kidding. She really did make me a drink, like she’d hinted she would. And it looks good. Just the right consistency.
“You did,” I say dryly, schooling my expression. I want to grin and say, Great minds, but I don’t want to presume too much common ground when it comes to…motivation.
“Go ahead. Say it,” she urges.
“Say what?”
“Say…I was wrong. Well, say you were wrong.”
“How was I wrong?” I counter.
“The other night when we texted? You didn’t think I was watching videos on how to impress your client with the best kale smoothie. But I was, Ford. Oh, I was. And the proof of the pudding is in the eating. Or the drinking. So bottoms up.”
I part my lips to make a counterpoint—actually, you weren’t watching a how-to video. You were dancing with your dog, your short shorts riding up temptingly, but that would tip my hand. So I shut the fuck up and cautiously try the drink.
But holy shit, it’s good, with a hint of sweetness and a little peppery bitterness. It’s everything a kale smoothie should be.
“You sure you hate kale?” I ask.
“I’m sure,” she says.
“All the more impressive then. This is good.”
Whipping off her shades, she smiles, and this time it’s bright and big, like her personality. Those clever green eyes twinkle as she wraps her pretty lips around the metal straw in the cup. I didn’t anticipate how dangerously sexy that’d be. The way she looks at me from under those long lashes as she drinks some of her tropical smoothie and hums.
Actually hums. Like one of those food shows where the host goes all orgasmic. I can’t look away. Hot tension courses through me as she rolls her lips together, then says, “This is sweet.” She bobs a shoulder. “Just like me.”
“Good,” I mutter. My brain spins with inappropriate thoughts, and I clench my phone tighter. Focus, man. Focus.
She turns to the car. “Ready to go?”
That raises a question. “How did you know this was my car?”
“It’s neat,” she says, then wiggles a brow as she lowers her voice. “Also, I saw you get into it the other day.”
She’s observant. Note to self: make sure she doesn’t see you when you check her out from the hot tub.
I open the passenger door for her and try not to watch as she slides into the front seat. But I like the way she moves. I like the way she flicks her hair off her shoulder. I like, too, how she settles into my car, like she’s comfortable being there.
When I jerk my gaze away from her, I’m shaking my head at myself.
Because I also like that she enjoyed the drink, plain and simple. Which—fuck me—means I didn’t make it to prove a point to myself that I’m cool and in control.
I made it…for her.
“Your car could win an award,” Skylar remarks with a whistle of appreciation as she looks around the interior, checking it out while we zip off.
“Yeah? For what?” I ask, since it feels like I’m being set up.
“Neatest car ever,” she says. “This is Swedish, right? It’s that new Swedish electric car that everyone’s loving?”
“Yup,” I say, “but I didn’t get it to be trendy.”
“Of course not. You got it because it’s very you—form follows function,” she says.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say warily.
“It is,” she says, then peers at the floor again, then at me with assessing eyes. “Look at the floor. Did you vacuum it this morning?”
“Obviously.”
“Wait. Why is that obvious?”
“How is it not? Things don’t get clean on their own,” I say as I turn onto Castro Street.
“But you clean it every day?” She seems perplexed by this.
“No, Skylar. A magical fairy appears out of thin air with a broom.”