Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26941 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26941 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
“Marsha loves you. Don’t mind your mom’s pushiness.”
“Says you because you’re not the one she’s pushing,” I mutter.
“Is it true your ex is Axel Forrester? As in Caged Chaos’s and now the Original Kings’ drummer?”
“Yes. That’s him.”
Amy’s blue eyes light up at my confirmation. “That is so cool. I can’t wait to meet him.”
I don’t tell her to slow her roll, but I think it. I have to get through this first date. I certainly am not planning on family meet and greets.
“Let’s go pick out clothes!” Amy grasps my hand and pulls me toward my bedroom, obviously determined to be in charge. “You’re still coming to my bachelorette party Saturday night, right?”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I assure my stepsister.
Am I looking forward to hanging out with Amy’s younger friends who still like to party and drink the night away? And who likely hired a male stripper as the night’s entertainment?
Not really. But when my mom and Amy’s dad, Glenn, married, I had a difficult time feeling like a part of the family. It was Amy who latched onto me and pulled me into our new family unit. I’ll show up to the bachelorette party because I love my stepsister.
“If you want me to help you choose an outfit for that, too, I’m happy to help,” Amy says, leading the way into my bedroom.
I can’t help but laugh at Amy’s enthusiasm and excitement. “Okay, you can help me choose both outfits.”
Amy flops onto the bed. “Show me what you were thinking about wearing.”
Half an hour later, we’ve come up with two outfits that I feel good in, then I catch up with my sister until Amy announces it’s time for her to get home.
Once alone, I take a shower and shave everywhere, not that I plan on exposing myself to Axel tonight, but better safe than sorry. I apply some makeup, including a light coat of foundation, blush, mascara, and a peachy-pink lip gloss, and I use my beach waver to curl my hair.
Keeping it casual, I put on the outfit Amy and I chose. My favorite pair of skinny jeans and a not-quite-sheer light pink off-the-shoulder blouse, held up with slender, halter-like straps. The top has a breezy feel I love. I zip on a pearl-colored pair of chunky-heeled booties, pair them with a black lightweight faux-leather motorcycle jacket, and add some jewelry.
I set my quilted cross-body bag by the front door before heading to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine to calm my nerves.
Then I settle in to wait for Axel.
* * *
Axel
I pick up Tara at the address her mom wrote down, which turns out to be a guesthouse with a private driveway on the property of another large estate home. I pull my Corvette into the driveway and park, drawing a deep breath before climbing out. I’m nervous but amped up, like before a concert.
Reminding myself I have experience with pre-show anxiety, I shake it off as I normally would and stride up the cobblestone walk.
Before I can knock or ring the bell, the door opens, and Tara stands in the doorway. What would be a casual pair of jeans and a top on anyone else looks gorgeous on her. Her skin tone blends well with the pink color of her blouse, and the simplicity of her silver necklace and the bracelet on her wrist make sure she stands out and not her accessories. She doesn’t deliberately reveal her cleavage like the groupies do. Instead, everything about her is genuine and calls to me on a soul-deep level.
“Hi,” she says, her voice a touch breathless.
“Hi, yourself. I see you’re ready.”
She nods. “No sense in wasting time.” She pulls the door closed and locks it behind her.
So I’m not going to see the inside of her place before our date, and if I have to guess, she has no plans to allow me entry after. I’ll just have to do my best to get her to warm up to me.
“Besides, Dakota will jump and get her white hair all over you,” she says as she places her keys into her purse.
“The Samoyed in your Facebook picture?”
She nods. “She’s my baby.”
I laugh. “A fifty-pound baby?”
“Women don’t discuss their weight,” she says, her sexy lips lifting in a grin.
I can’t tear my gaze from her face. “You look beautiful.”
A flush stains her cheeks. “Thank you.”
Reaching out, I tangle a finger in one of her long curls, causing her to draw in a shocked breath, as if I touched her skin.
“Do you want me to pull up the convertible top?” I tilt my head toward the car in the driveway. Women and their hair. I know from my sister, an open top is hit or miss. I never know what Cassidy will say when I pick her up in the ’Vette.