Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“Hands up, Pickles,” he told me.
I laughed. “You don’t have to put it on me.”
“Hands up,” he repeated.
Still smiling, I did as he’d instructed, and he pulled it down over me. It was huge, warm, and smelled like him. I wanted to giggle like an idiot, but I refrained. I also didn’t take it and shove it against my nose like a weirdo, but I thought about it.
“That covers up your tits in that top. I’ll be able to stop thinking about sucking on your nipples now,” he said. Then he reached over to straighten the hood, bunched up behind me, and slid his hands beneath my hair, fanning it out so that it wasn’t stuck underneath. “That’s better. Food should be here in a few minutes. I’ll go out to get it at the front gate. But we can get the drinks, napkins, and utensils ready while we wait on it. I think Halo has a picnic basket in the pantry.”
Picnic basket?
“Are we eating outside?” I asked, following him as he started toward the hallway.
“Yeah, I know the perfect spot. Somewhere you’ve not been. It’ll be like you have escaped.”
I smiled at his back, letting my gaze drop to his delicious butt. The man made jeans look mouthwatering. I’d seen it naked this morning, and whew. It was a sight. One I wanted to keep forever burned in my brain.
The dimples just above it were something I hadn’t known were needed on a guy. But they were just as enticing as the way his lower abdomen cut into a V just beneath his abs. I was getting flustered. I needed to stop this. We were going on a picnic, not to the bedroom. It was Noa’s book’s fault. I had gotten worked up more than once today, reading it.
“We are drinking tonight, Pickles. Not enough to get you drunk. I want to get you naked later, and I want you fully aware of what is happening. But tipsy is fine. So, what do you prefer?”
Drinking wasn’t such a bad idea. It would loosen me up. Until I’d read Noa’s book today, I hadn’t realized just how unexperienced I was. There was so much more to making out than blow jobs and having a guy feel me up. Although last night, I’d been shown a bit more, but not all the things I’d read today.
“Um, I, uh … well …” I didn’t drink often. What did I want?
Calvin always ordered one for me if I did have a drink. Normally some fruity drink.
Forge stopped and looked back at me. “I’ve got everything. You name it.”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure. Calvin always orders my drinks if we are out. I’m not a big drinker.”
His brows snapped together. “Calvin? Fuck that. We will figure out what you like. Don’t let some man pick out your drink.”
Okay, I didn’t think it was a big deal, but sure. Whatever he said.
He started toward the kitchen again, and I had to quicken my pace since his strides had become longer and more intense. As if he was pissed about this drink thing.
When he stepped into the kitchen, the lights came on without him touching anything. I hadn’t known they were activated by movement.
“All right, get a seat at the bar. We will start with wine, unless you want to try beer.”
I pulled out a stool. “I might not be a drinker, but isn’t there a saying, like, Beer before liquor, never sicker?”
“Myth. Doesn’t matter. Beer is just something you can drink a lot of before realizing you’re intoxicated. You feel effects faster with liquor and slow down. It’s drinking too much sugar that fucks you up.”
Oh. Learn something new every day. “All right then. Is it okay if I don’t try the beer? I already know I hate it. I can’t even stand the way it smells.”
He smirked. “Yeah, Pickles. We will leave off the beer,” he agreed as he pulled two bottles from the wine rack. “Let’s do the red versus white taste test first.”
I watched him open a cabinet and take out two different wineglasses. One with a stem and one without.
“I’ve had red, and maybe it was the kind I drank, but I wasn’t a fan. I hate for you to open a bottle of it just for me to taste,” I told him.
He picked up the bottle of merlot and slid it back into the holder, then scanned the other bottles and pulled out a new bottle. “Rosé. I should have thought about that one anyway. My mom prefers it. I think it’s a female thing.”
The color looked like a dark pink, and I thought that was promising. It was hard not to look at his biceps flexing as he uncorked the bottle of rosé. They were mesmerizing.
He poured a small amount into the glass without a stem and slid it across the bar to me.