Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
He’s grinning like he just won the county pie-eating contest. “So all it took was showering together to get us on a first-name basis? If I’d known that, I would have had you stay earlier.”
I laugh, but keep it light. Don’t want to feed that already satiated ego of his. Again. “Stay and do what?” It shouldn’t be this fun to flirt with him. I’ve been thrown from the ballooning presence of Daniel Sutton. One day. Not even a full day and he’s not just invading my thoughts but now my house. Granted, it’s for the bathroom, but he’s suddenly in every part of my life. I wish I knew if that presence is full of hot air, like most guys, or I’m making something from nothing. Maybe a little of both.
His silence draws my attention back, but his eyes remain relegated ahead of us. Shoving his hands in his pockets, the cocky grin I’m thinking is his standard issue reappears. Looking at me, he says, “Shower together. What else would I mean?”
“What else indeed,” I reply more to myself than him.
Roman stops ahead and turns back with a stamp of his foot. “Why didn’t we take the car?”
“Because it’s only a two-seater,” Daniel replies. “And Summer walked over because she lives close by.” Daniel is already feeling second nature. That’s what happens after what we’ve been through so early in our relationship. Not that we have a relationship, but ugh. I stop the hamster wheel from spinning my thoughts and tangling them even more.
“It’s not that far,” I add with a good five feet between Daniel and me, who’s staying closer to the center of the road while I turn around and hug the side.
Roman scans the vicinity as he starts walking again. “I don’t see any houses.”
There are too many trees to see the house from here, but it won’t be long until it makes a grand appearance. It’s been the talk of the town for years. We refuse to change it. “It will be up on the left, same side as the cottage.”
“But—”
“Roman.” His dad cuts him off. “Patience, buddy. We’ll be there soon.”
Despite helping me out there, the only thing that really sticks in my head is he is a dad. Before Roman was napping, I was given a peek inside their lives when I stopped by earlier. But I wasn’t there long enough to get a sense of what kind of parent he is. Heck, I don’t even know if he’s married. Sure, I can assume he’s not by his ringless finger, but some guys don’t wear bands. “Are you married?” I ask to confirm one way or the other.
If he’s married, I’m going to feel like the dirt on my shoes for flirting with him. If he’s not, does that make this an opportunity?
No. Summer. Stop. Why did I even open that door when I had already firmly closed it? Superficially, he’s just so handsome. Otherwise, he’s entertaining. Seems only natural to be attracted to him. We’ve survived a water incident together, so it’s only normal to grow closer. Whether that’s mutual or not remains to be seen.
“I was surprised it wasn’t asked on your form.” He veers a little closer.
There’s still enough distance safely between us to keep me from jumping his bones as if he’s onto me. . . I cringe at myself. If I can’t keep control of my thoughts, the rest might be already too far lost. It’s tempting to giggle. One thing he’s awoken, other than my libido, is my sense of humor. Why is it so fun to flirt again? Or is it fun to flirt with him?
“It wasn’t information I needed to serve your needs.” I’m kind of proud of my innuendo-riddled reply. Two can play that game, and look at me go.
“You sure about that?” I catch the wink he sends me.
I grin. “Positive.”
“It’s pink!” Roman shouts with a jump as he looks back. “Your house is pink.”
“It sure is,” I say, cupping my hand to the side of my mouth for him to hear. “We love the color pink.”
He says, “I like orange like my dad’s colors.”
I look at his dad, who’s not wearing any orange whatsoever, but I’m not going to argue with the kid. Daniel says, “It’s the jersey.”
“Oh.” I roll my neck, loosening a knot and remembering all the times I’ve been stuck on weekends watching football game after football game instead of out having fun. “Guys love sports.”
“You don’t?”
With a shrug, I reply, “Some.”
“Which ones?”
Why does it suddenly feel like an interrogation? This is the most interest he’s shown, and as usual, it’s centered around sports. Men . . . “I don’t—”
“A swing!” Roman starts running toward the tire hanging from the large oak at the front of the house.
“Are the ropes reinforced?”