Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
"Was it that bad?" I inquire, curiosity piqued.
She laughs, but there's a slight catch in her voice, an echo of lingering disappointment. "It's all a numbers game out there. You feel like a superstar in your drama class, but once you step into that vast ocean, you realize you're just one of a million versions of yourself. They're blonder, taller, and more willing to do whatever it takes to land roles."
"So, you decided to move back," I say, attempting to sound casual even though my heart is pounding with curiosity.
She shrugs. "Casey was having a tough time, and my mom isn't getting any younger. It was the logical thing to do." She fiddles with the corner of her napkin, her eyes wandering to the window. "I do miss it sometimes, though. The hope, I suppose."
"Are you planning to stay in Silver Spoon Falls now?" I watch her closely, searching for any hint of her intentions. The thought lingers in my mind, wondering if I will need to adjust my own plans to align with hers, to follow whatever path she chooses.
Our breakfast arrives and for a minute we eat in silence. The waffles are so fluffy, they nearly melt in my mouth. Naomi takes three bites, then licks her fork clean, eyes rolling back in ecstasy. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen that didn’t involve actual nudity.
“God, that’s better than sex,” she says.
“I doubt it,” I say before I can stop myself. She raises an eyebrow and grins.
“Oh?” she teases. “You have evidence to the contrary?”
“I do,” my goddamn mouth runs away without consulting my brain.
There’s a lull. Her eyes drop to my mouth, then back up.
I want to ask her everything. I want to tell her about the dreams, the way she’s invaded every circuit of my brain. Instead, I pour us more coffee and try to steady my hands.
Naomi slides her foot up my leg under the table, not overt but definitely intentional. “You ever get bored at work?” she asks. “Just watching everyone else have all the fun?”
“You have no idea,” I say. But the only goddamn person I can ever see myself “playing” with is Naomi.
She gives me a look that says, Oh, I think I do.
We make small talk after that, trading stories about childhood disasters and family drama. She tells me about the time she set the fire alarm off during a middle school play then I tell her about the worst night of tour when three groupies and a roadie got into a fistfight over a stolen t-shirt.
“Did you always want to be in security?” she asks, draining the last of her coffee.
“Not really. My uncle owned a construction company. I was supposed to take over, but I hated it. Got into security because I needed a job, stuck around because I was good at it.”
Naomi nods, then bites her lip. “You’re really not what I expected,” she says.
“What did you expect?”
She leans in, voice low. “Less… thoughtful, I guess. And maybe more… dangerous?” Her phone buzzes in her purse interrupting us, and she checks it, rolling her eyes. “My mother,” she says, tapping the answer button. “Hey, Mom. I’m fine. Just finishing up breakfast with a… friend.”
My stomach drops at the word, but she glances at me and winks.
“No, he’s not a serial killer. Yes, I’ll text when I walk home. No, I haven’t joined a cult.” She listens, then sighs. “Okay. I love you, too. Bye.”
She tucks the phone away and gives me a sheepish look. “Sorry. She worries.”
“She’s not wrong,” I say. “There’s some weird people out there.”
Naomi grins. “Yeah. But sometimes the weird ones are the best.”
The check comes, but she beats me to it, slapping down a twenty before I can protest. “You can get the next one,” she says, and my heart does a stupid leap at the idea of a next time. Fuck. It’s against my goddamn religion to let my date pay for our meal but I can sense arguing would be the wrong thing to do.
The drive to her place is way too fucking short. As we walk up her front steps, our shoulders brush, and I can feel the heat radiating off her.
She stops at the door, turns, and says, “I had a good time,” It’s an innocent statement. But the way she bites her pouty bottom lip isn’t innocent at all. It’s like a fucking invitation.
“Me too,” I say, my voice rough.
Then she leans in, and her lips brush the corner of my mouth. It’s soft, almost chaste, but it’s enough to make my cock twitch in my jeans. Fuck that. I’m not letting her get away with just a peck. My hands slide through her silky hair before she can pull away. I draw her close, and our mouths crash together as we devour each other.