Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Ah, that’s easier to answer. “Oh, this thing?”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, this? Why yes, that was just a little play I wrote one afternoon. Had no idea anyone would be into that dude named Romeo and his lady Juliet. Just that thing.”
I smile, smugly. “You think my origami is Shakespeare-level? Why, thank you.”
“It’s…well, an unusual hobby for…” She looks me up and down, perhaps not wanting to say a guy because it would sound sexist.
And I think I’ll have a little fun with her. “For a temporary boyfriend?” I ask, like I’m a little confused.
“You know what I mean.”
“For a whiskey sour drinker?”
“C’mon, Banks!”
“For a Mozart aficionado?”
“For a guy,” she says with a huff.
“Ah, that.” I lift my glass of water and take a sip. She watches me with avid eyes, and the flicker of heat in her irises does not go unnoticed.
Or unwanted.
“My little sister taught me,” I say. I don’t tell her that I find it calming, that I need to keep my hands busy, that if I don’t, my mind veers in frustrating directions.
“What else can you make?”
I gaze at her face, then down her neck to the collarbone where her hoodie has slipped, exposing some of her right shoulder and skin that looks soft, tender, and thoroughly kissable. A sparrow peeks out from the fabric, spreading its wings.
I meet her eyes. A charge zaps between us. “Something pretty,” I say, without looking away from her.
Her smile is just south of shy, and I want to kiss it off. Instead, I open my tablet case and take out a crisp sheet of white paper. I fold it in half on the diagonal, then unfold it at the crease. Quickly but methodically, I flip the paper over, up, down, until a minute later, I present her with a bird.
She takes it, clutches it gently. “I love it. And I needed this tonight.” It’s said like a confession, and I don’t think she’s talking about the paper bird. “I just got some wild news.”
I straighten my spine, dropping the flirty tone like that. “Everything okay?” Translation: Who do I need to hurt?
“Yes. It’s all good. I didn’t mean to alarm you. It’s a huge project. So it’s good, but overwhelming, like how can I possibly get everything done in that amount of time overwhelming. It’s a lot of pressure, even though it’s good pressure.”
“I hear you. But I bet you’ll get it done early.”
She laughs. “You have a lot of faith in me.”
“You’re tough. You’re strong. You know how to get things done.”
“You can tell all that in one hour of meeting me?”
No doubt about it. “I sure can. You’re the kind of person who doesn’t back down from a challenge.”
Her smile magnifies. “And are you the same?”
“I am. So I get what you’re saying, because I know that feeling too. That how the hell will I get this done feeling, but then you do it. I’m waiting to find out if my firm just got a new gig.”
She pauses, seeming to absorb that little nugget. “Sounds like you have a lot of tension,” she muses, her eyes sparking with possibilities of the after-dark variety.
And I like it. A lot. “Sounds like we both do,” I say, as she takes her time and sets a hand on my leg, and damn, that feels good. It also feels like a new direction for the night. “What are we going to do with all this tension then?”
She glances toward the lobby, then the hallway beyond, and maybe, just maybe, to the elevators and where they lead. A hotel room.
The way things started with us tonight, I don’t want to push her. But I do want to kick open the door. “Ripley,” I say, my husky tone making my meaning clear—say the word, and we’re out of here.
“Banks…” She draws a deep breath, holds it, then fuck it flashes in her eyes. “Should we take this to my room?”
A bolt of lust slams into me. “Yes.” But just because it’s a good idea to check, I add, “If you’re sure you want that?”
Her teeth slide over her bottom lip, then she whispers, “Well, it is our third date, after all.”
I take that opportunity and run with it. “We’ve probably had our first kiss already.”
She smiles, seductive and inviting. “Did we? I can’t recall.”
I lift a hand and slide my fingers through her hair, savoring the way she trembles as I touch her. “Sweetheart, when I kiss you, you will definitely recall it.”
She lifts her chin. “Why don’t you refresh my memory?”
3
POUNCE ON ME
RIPLEY
This never happens to me in Darling Springs. I don’t meet men like Banks in my hometown. An interesting, flirty man built like a Mack truck who maybe listens to Mozart?
Nope.
I hardly meet men there because that’s where I grew up. I know everyone already. Like William, the Irish guy who runs the local bookshop that his Brazilian grandmother gave to him. Or Fox, who moved to Darling Springs from Montreal and now owns the bar and commiserates with me over a game of pool about the price of things.