Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
“Josie, he’s got the whole dang town watchin’ him,” Grandma Rose adds. “And all he’s looked at is you. Give the poor schlep a date.”
Josie clenches her teeth and lets out a deep sigh before turning to me, her eyes challenging. “Fine. One date. On Saturday. I have work, and I’ll need the week to run a background check on you.”
She needs to run a background check on me. Is it too soon to be in love with this woman?
I grin. “Saturday it is.”
It doesn’t matter that I have to wait a week or that her grandma basically peer-pressured her into it. I have an official date with Josie Ellis, and just like before…
A win is a win.
4
Josie
Saturday, May 31st
A bouquet of red roses is the first thing I see when I open the door, Clay’s smiling face appearing shortly after as he pulls them down and holds them out to me on the front stoop of Grandma Rose’s house.
I’ve lived here since I moved back to town seven years ago, when I was just a fresh-faced eighteen-year-old looking to escape from under my mother’s thumb. At first, I thought I’d be eager to move out and find my own place, but I’m comfortable. Grandma Rose is nosy sometimes but, by and large, gives me all the freedom I ask for. I mean, to her credit, she’s not even spying on me right now, and if I were her, after the way Clay proposed this date in the first place, I don’t know that I’d have nearly that much restraint.
It also doesn’t hurt that she only charges me a minuscule amount of rent and money for my share of the groceries. And I know she only burdens me at all to make me feel like I’m making a contribution and not freeloading. As a woman working as a waitress and surviving mostly on tips, I appreciate it more than I can say.
“Wow. You look beautiful,” Clay greets, handing me the bouquet and leaning in to place a single, gentle kiss to my cheek and then stepping back to take me in.
Low-rise jeans, a belt with a big buckle, and a fancy off-the-shoulder top was my fifth option for the night, and tired of taking off and putting on clothes, I finally settled. Still, Clay’s eyes are alight with appreciation, and my happiness with the choice is renewed.
“Thank you,” I say, studying his appearance with sly eyes. He looks absolutely delicious in a formfitting, crisp white T-shirt and well-apportioned jeans and boots. His hair is neatly combed and styled, and his smile is bright and white. His features may be slightly rich Italian, but his aesthetic is full-on country.
And there’s no doubt about it—Clay Harris is one fine-ass man. Seriously. He’s what eighteen-year-old me would’ve called hot. And he’s what midtwenties me secretly wants to eat with a spoon.
“What?” he asks with a smirk. “No return compliment for me?”
I shrug, feigning neutrality despite my current state of lust. “You look all right, I guess.”
Clay Harris might be one of God’s gifts to women, but I refuse to show my I’m-totally-into-you cards before we even start our date. I’ll stick with playing hard to get and will have zero shame in that game.
He tilts his head, and his smile grows. “So, that’s how it is?”
“How what is?” I ask coyly, sliding past him, pulling the door shut behind me and walking toward his souped-up dark green Ford F-150. I’m not exactly an expert on vehicles, but I know enough to realize it’s not brand-new. The upkeep on it, however, is immaculate. I see no scratches or spots of rust, and the chrome door handles shine like a brand-new copper penny.
He follows after me with both pep and patience, the warmth of his breath a gentle breeze on the back of my neck I’ve left exposed with an updo.
“The whole tough-nut thing,” he explains, hustling past me to open the passenger door to his truck and hold it for me. I climb inside, and he surprises me by following with his upper body, grabbing the seat belt, pulling it across me, and securing it in the buckle. His face is this close as he whispers, “I’m real good at cracking them.”
“We’ll see,” I challenge somehow, even though I can barely breathe. His smell is entrancing, and if I’m honest with myself, I already feel a fissure in my shell.
Clay’s face is bright with happiness and ease as he edges back out my door, secures it shut, and rounds the hood to jump in on the driver’s side. As he climbs in and fires it up, I test out giving this thing—this date—an actual chance. He’s a fun, attractive-as-hell guy, and I’m an adventurous single girl. Besides a few hours, I really have nothing to lose.