Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
She has the goofiest expression on her face from attempting to hide her amusement.
“At least I have a car,” I say like I would to a buddy giving me shit, not the girl I’m trying (unsuccessfully) to impress while simultaneously playing hard to get. I’m not sure what my game plan is. It’s like a skunk playing hard to get with a white, floppy-eared bunny rabbit.
She curls her lips between her teeth and slowly nods while humming a soft, “Mm-hmm.”
“What do you like to eat?” I ask, pulling away from the curb with some extra gas before it dies on me.
“Food.”
“Ha. Ha.”
“Good food.”
“So like chicken fingers and fries?”
“Careful, Flynn. I don’t know if you’re allowed to sweep me off my feet twice in one day.”
I shoot her a quick sidelong glance.
“You look more like a salad girl. I don’t know where to get good salads. I don’t eat a lot of ‘em.”
“Why do I look like a salad girl?”
“Cuz you’re skinny.”
“So are you,” she says.
“So chicken fingers and fries?”
June laughs. “Yeah. Chicken fingers and fries.”
Chapter Nine
June
I don’t like chicken fingers. The smell of Flynn’s car makes me gag with bile. When I step out of it at the restaurant, I hide my cringe because something sticky on the car seat makes a gooey sound as I peel my butt from it.
His brow furrows when I wrinkle my nose. “Shit. Was there something on the seat?”
I try not to laugh. The seat is black, but I’m pretty sure the original fabric color was beige. Yeah, there’s a lot of somethings caked on the seat.
“It’s fine,” I say. Wiping my backside.
He twists his torso, inspecting my butt.
“Are you staring at my ass?” I keep my hand over the sticky spot because I don’t want to make him feel bad.
“I’m inspecting your shorts. I’ll get that seat cleaned tomorrow.” He closes my door, and we head into the restaurant. “And you have a nice ass,” he says. “In case there’s a poll about it or something like that. Ten out of ten.”
I playfully nudge him, any excuse to touch him because I’m dying for him to kiss me. Grab my hand. My ass. Whatever. Just touch me!
He keeps his gaze ahead of us, but he still grins and nudges me back.
While he orders at the counter, I pick out a table. This is my first fast-food date. I’m about to eat food I don’t like while trying not to think about the mystery sticky substance on my shorts. Yet my head continues to spin from him literally sweeping me off my feet, the near kiss, and the way he instinctively put himself between me and the car driving down the street.
If he were my muse, I’d write love songs about all the things I never knew I wanted—until him. Songs about falling. Butterflies. Goosebumps. And of course, being swept off my feet.
It’s too soon. Too fast. Too everything.
It’s also undeniable, and if I’m being honest, it feels uncontrollable.
Flynn carries the tray of food to the drink station, fills our cups, and grabs napkins and packets of ketchup. When he spots me, he grins. I’ve seen a lot in my life, things other people would only dream of, but this man smiling at me might be the vision that hits me hardest in the chest. He’s just … I don’t even know the right words. Definitely unexpected in the best possible way.
“I didn’t know if you wanted coop sauce or just ketchup, so I got both. You deserve options,” he says, sitting across from me.
“I don’t know what coop sauce is, but I’ll try it.”
“I know this isn’t fancy—”
“It’s perfect,” I say, interrupting him. “Like really really perfect.”
He eyes me while taking a drink of his soda, grinning around the straw.
“I’m serious.” I laugh, opening a packet of ketchup.
“I’m not a fancy person.” Flynn opens his ketchup with his teeth.
“I hadn’t noticed.” I dip my chicken into the special sauce.
“It’s weird seeing the stupid shit that matters to rich people.”
“Define stupid shit,” I say.
“A big house. The Rawlings’ mansion is ridiculously big for two people. They don’t even sleep in the same bedroom, and it’s still too big. They have one child and a dining room table that seats twelve.”
“Maybe they like getting good sleep. Maybe they like having dinner parties.” I shrug before taking another bite of chicken. It’s better than I expected. Just one more unexpected moment with Flynn Morley.
He dips at least five fries at the same time into his pile of ketchup. “If I had a wife, I wouldn’t sleep on the other side of the house. Ya never know what could happen. If she couldn’t sleep with me in bed with her, I’d just sleep on the floor.”
I slow my chewing.
“What?” he says.
“You’d sleep on the floor?”
“Of course. The man of the house should protect what’s important. What’s more important than family?” He shrugs a shoulder, but then he chuckles. “But what do I know? I’ve never had a family. Maybe that’s why I think I’d do whatever it took to protect one if I had the chance.”