Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“What’ll it be?”
“Got any beer?” That’s an easy enough request, yeah?
She pulls a face. “Er. Not really, but I can make you something? I have Coke and vodka.” She scratches her head. “Rum. And wine? That’s all I have, sorry. Maybe once I start dating someone, I’ll stock up.”
I almost say “Ouch,” but then I remember—she and I are not dating. She and I are not flirting. We are not looking for the same things.
“I’ll do wine, thanks.”
She hesitates. “Uh—is it okay if I put it in this glass?”
“You don’t have wineglasses?” I ask critically. “Everyone has wineglasses.”
She shrugs. “I don’t sit around drinking wine, so I’m not about to run out and spend money on something I don’t need.”
Fair enough.
I watch as she removes a bottle of white wine from a different cabinet, then watch as she hands it over to me.
I peel off the metal wrapping, then twist off the top, pulling out the cork.
“Thanks.” She smiles, pouring as I ease onto a barstool, gazing at her as I would a bartender. “You’re so strong.”
I blink at her.
Then,
“Don’t be an asshole—you could totally have gotten that off yourself.”
“Obviously.” Margot laughs as she slides the glass across the center island toward my waiting hand. “But you’re here to help me, and I figured we should start right away.”
Is she flirting with me?
Hard to say.
I chug the wine in my glass because wine ain’t shit and does nothing for me. I could drink the entire bottle before I felt buzzed. She watches me wide eyed as I down the glass.
“I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m a big dude.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“You have?” I tease, genuinely curious about her feelings for me. Other than being disgusted by the fact that I don’t want to date a woman with kids, I don’t actually know—if I hadn’t said it . . . would she go out with me?
She’s tough to read.
“Of course I have. I’m a teacher, it’s my job to notice stuff.”
Ahh. “Are you saying I act like a kid?”
Margot leans toward me, wine bottle in hand, pouring more into my glass as she says, “Did I say you act like a kid?”
No.
No she did not. But still, the implication that I’m like a kid clenches my butt cheeks a bit.
I want her to tell me more about how I’m a big dude, and how she’s noticed how big I am, and whether or not I’m her type. She did swipe on me after all . . .
I take more time sipping the second glass she served me. The flavor is rich and full, and as a man who usually only drinks beer, I’m digging it.
Margot rests on her elbows as she leans against the counter, and damn if I don’t notice her cleavage, or the outline of her bra beneath her plain white shirt, or her tan collarbone.
A thin gold chain hangs around her neck with a tiny letter W.
It shimmers and winks at me, and I pull my eyes away so it doesn’t look like I’m staring at her tits.
Which I am.
I’m trying to determine how big they are without having any information. Would they fit in my hand? Is she wearing a push-up bra?
Admittedly I am an ass-and-tits guy.
Can’t help myself.
Margot, unfortunately, is wearing jeans—the slouchy kind they call boyfriend jeans—with rips and tears. They hang down past her hips, so I can’t get a look at her backside.
Bare feet.
Hair down.
It’s brown and long and in waves.
Little to no makeup.
“I like your freckles,” I tell her, drinking half the glass of wine.
Her hand goes up, two fingers touching her skin. Nose. Cheeks. “I used to hate them growing up.”
I didn’t notice them at the restaurant, and I hadn’t noticed them in her photos.
“Do you cover them with makeup?”
She nods. “Sometimes. Depends.”
Hmm. “That’s a shame.”
I kind of want to lick them.
I kind of want to lick her all over, down the middle of her chest, down her stomach, see what’s beneath that white shirt.
“Are you okay?” Margot asks. “You look weird.”
“Huh?” I give my head a shake. “Sorry. I was just daydreaming.” About what you might look like with no clothes on. Hey, just ’cause we’re not going to have a relationship doesn’t mean we can’t have fun—does it?
I wonder if she’d be up for a friends-with-benefits situation or if she has her heart set on meeting someone for the long term.
She sips.
I sip.
Finish the second glass and push it forward; the little buzz I begin to feel surprises the shit out of me.
I stand, pushing the stool back in. “I should get to work, eh? I don’t want to take up your entire night.”
“Sure.” She nods. “Yeah, I get it.”
“Where’s the issue?” I come around to her side of the counter to get to the sink.
Margot pulls the cabinet open and bends to peer beneath. “It’s in there.”