Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
I smile behind my bite of pizza as we settle in to watch a movie.
“Now what do you want to watch?” he asks.
“I should head home. Get out of your hair.”
“You should stay. We should watch another movie, and I’m pretty sure I have ice cream in the freezer.”
I gasp. “Is that on the meal plan, sir?”
He chuckles. “It’s the offseason, remember? I can indulge from time to time.”
“Oh, like that half a pizza and three breadsticks you demolished?”
He lifts his T-shirt to show me his abs. “I think I’m good,” he says, his voice dropping to a lower octave, while I try like hell not to swallow my tongue, because damn… abs for days on this one.
“Yeah,” I agree, turning my gaze back to the television. “I think so, too.” I know so, but I can’t tell him that. Damn, am I drooling? I fake a yawn to check.
“Come on. One more movie. Unless you have plans.”
“No plans. I’m going with Carrie tomorrow to get a pedicure, but that’s it. What about you?”
“It’s Knox and Corie’s wedding anniversary. He’s demanded our presence tomorrow for dinner. Not that all of us wouldn’t have agreed to be there anyway. It’s at one, though, so it’s really lunch, but that’s a technicality.”
“Some could call lunch dinner.”
“Do you?”
I grin. “Nope.”
“Phew, okay, we can still be friends.” He winks.
“Is that what you call this? Call us? Friends?” The question flies out of my mouth before I can stop it.
“Yeah, I mean, I know you work for the agency, but you don’t work for me directly, right? Friends hang out, share meals together.”
“Meals you make or buy. This seems one-sided.”
“Hey, you brought breakfast this week.”
“I did, but I had to get here almost an hour early. If I told you I was bringing it, you would have protested.”
“So, I’m old-school.”
“That would be sweet if we were dating, but we’re not. I clean your house.” I mean, let’s call a spade a spade here. Besides, saying the words out loud, reminding myself that this crush of mine can’t go anywhere, is what I need to do to keep my heart in check.
“We talk, and we share meals, and we go places together. We’re friends.” He says it as if his word is gospel, with no room for argument. It’s fine, as long as I keep reminding myself that this crush won’t go any further.
I stand to clean our mess, but he reaches out and grabs my wrist to stop me. “Sit, Eden. You’re not working. It’s after hours, and I want to watch a movie with my friend.” The look in his eyes, paired with the gentle timbre of his voice, has me parking my ass back on the couch. This time, I’m sitting a little closer than before. He adjusts his position and ends up even closer.
It’s fine.
Everything is fine.
I’m a big girl. I can handle sitting next to him. He’s just a man.
A sexy, sweet, kind, funny, caring man.
Shit.
Another movie starts, and I force myself to relax and enjoy it. This is the best-case scenario. I get to spend time with him with no pressure, no expectations, and no chance of getting my heart broken.
Not fifteen minutes in, a chill washes over me, and I shiver. Foster hops off the couch and races upstairs. He’s back in no time with the softest blanket I’ve ever felt and tosses it over my lap. He doesn’t stop there. He, too, slides beneath the cover, putting us in even closer proximity. The left side of my body is aligned with his right.
Everything is not fine.
His masculine smell washes over me, and I make a mental note to look at the cologne he wears. Then again, maybe it’s his body wash? Laundry detergent? Whatever it is, it’s heavenly, and I find myself leaning into him.
That’s how he ends up wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me into him. No words are exchanged as I rest my head against his chest, and we watch the rest of the movie.
This time, when the credits roll, I’m not quick to stand. I need to. I need to detach myself from him and go home, but I linger just a few seconds longer than required. When I tell myself this is the final second, he runs his hand gently down my back.
“Good movie,” he rumbles, his voice thick. Sexy.
“Yeah,” I agree as I sit up. He doesn’t try to stop me, and I’m torn. Part of me is glad, and the other wants him to carry me to his bed and have his way with me.
It’s past time for me to go, with thoughts like that racing through my head.
Standing, I clean up our mess, place all the leftover pizza into one box, and slide it onto a shelf in his massive fridge. By the time I make it back to the living room, he has the blanket folded and tossed over the back of the couch, and he lifts his arms and runs his fingers through his hair.