Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25568 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25568 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
“So, um.” I glance around. “You’re here,” I say for the second time. “Is there a problem?” Why else would he be here unless there was an issue?
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.” My breath hitches at his honest admission. That’s the last thing I thought he’d say. I figured he’d likely never think of me again after our meeting. “The prenup.”
Oh. That’s why he’s here. Of course. I’m so silly.
“I signed it.”
“But you still haven’t read it.”
“You’re really hung up on that,” I say, and Gideon runs his fingers through his hair, appearing frustrated. “Are you mad at me?”
“I’m pissed you’re getting screwed in this prenup. You don’t even want to know the part about children.” I open my mouth but quickly close it. I hadn’t gotten that far in my head.
“Oh god,” I whisper to myself. Why hadn’t I thought about the possibility of children? My heart gives a small flutter before it’s quickly snuffed out. The idea of having kids with Conner makes me want to throw up, but the idea of never having them makes my chest hurt. “I don’t even want to have sex with him, let alone procreate,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
"You know what happens when you get married, right?" he asks, and I nod my head.
"I mean, I do, I just—" I huff a breath, suddenly feeling exhausted. "Did you fertilize your philodendron?"
"That's what you're asking me right now?"
What I don’t tell Gideon is that thinking about his plant is better than thinking about sex with Conner.
Gideon runs his fingers through his hair again, making it a bit untamed. I have the urge to reach up and fix the unruly locks.
"Well, now I'm thinking about your hair." There’s no reason I can't fix it, so I reach up and do it. I have to stand on my tiptoes, but I manage to get them back into place.
"You need to be thinking about yourself." I drop my hand from his hair, but he catches my wrist and holds on to it. "You don't want to marry him."
"Are you asking me or telling me?"
"You don’t,” he says with finality.
“I don’t,” I say in agreement. “But I am.”
“Emerson.”
“I love the way you say my name. Usually my name makes me feel old, but when you say it, it’s kind of—” I trail off.
“It’s what?” He tugs on my wrist, bringing it to his chest. The motion makes me step closer to him. So much so I can feel the warmth of his body, and I want to curl into him. “Tell me,” he encourages, his tone soft.
“It sounds kinda sexy when you say it.”
“Is that so?” A smirk plays on his lips, making me smile with him.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” he says without hesitation.
“Careful there,” I laugh.
“I’m not joking, Emerson. You can ask me anything.”
“I’m going to ask for something from you,” I say, clarifying.
“Anything,” he repeats, again without hesitation.
“A kiss.” His eyes drop to my mouth as heat climbs up my body. “I don’t want him to be my first and only kiss. Would you—”
That’s all I manage to get out before his mouth comes down onto mine. This time when I can’t breathe, I don’t feel trapped. In fact, I’ve never felt freer.
Chapter Six
GIDEON
When I was twelve years old, I played baseball at my middle school. My family didn’t have much money, but my mom worked at the post office and fudged our address so I could go to school in the rich part of town. The baseball team was one of the best in the state, and I had a lot of natural talent.
The coach wanted me to play, but I didn’t have money for the equipment. So like any poor kid, I hustled. I stole cleats from the school’s lost and found, did my friends' homework in exchange for an old uniform, and collected soda cans when I needed money for away games.
We were so good during my last year of middle school that we made it all the way to a national championship. I took the field at the bottom of the ninth with bases loaded, and our team was down by two. I’ll never forget striding up to the plate and staring down the pitcher. He’d hit the two batters before me, and my coach gave me the advice to crowd the plate and catch one too.
I remember every detail of gripping the bat while the pitcher released the ball, and the sound it made when I connected with it. I could feel my heart stop as I watched the ball sail into the air and then go over the fence.
My grand slam earned our team a national championship, and for the rest of my life, I compared all of my achievements against it. The high, the feeling of hard work paying off and knowing that I did something great. All other moments have had to compete with that night, but right now, I couldn’t tell you the name of that team.