Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“Ditto,” I reply, gliding a finger over his collarbone. “What’s on your agenda for the rest of the day?”
“I want to get a workout in,” he replies, then chuckles. “Not that what we did wasn’t a workout, but I want to lift weights. Want to come with me?”
I wrinkle my nose in distaste. “I am extremely averse to working out, and you know this. I’ll probably just hang around here. Maybe take Samson out for a few walks.”
Kane shifts slightly so he can see me better. “Since we don’t have a game, I thought tonight we could maybe…”
“What’s that?”
“You and I have never been on a date,” he says. “We’ve done things all out of sorts, but it seems a travesty we never even had a first date. So how about a candlelit dinner where we get all dressed up?”
“But I don’t have anything dressy,” I reply, though, admittedly, my insides are incredibly warm and gooey over such a romantic idea.
“Then may I suggest a shopping trip with one of your new girlfriends? I believe at last count there were seven to choose from,” he replies dryly.
“Six. Willow is back in Los Angeles.”
But yeah… I’ll shoot them a text to see if anyone wants to help me pick out a tastefully sexy dress for my first date with Kane.
CHAPTER 17
Kane
While we won’t have the traditional moment where I pick Mollie up at her home for our first date, we agreed to get ready in separate bedrooms so as not to see each other. Mollie and Regan had decided to go shopping, and while she wouldn’t show me her dress, she assured me I’d like it.
I pick my best suit… a tailored French design in a herringbone grey. The jacket has a notched collar and a three-button front. I pair it with a light blue shirt and a tie that’s just about three shades darker than the shirt with a darker navy-blue print of some design. They look like amoebas to me, but I think the salesman might have said it was paisley. Regardless, it looks good together.
After a tiny bit of mousse to sweep my hair back and a spray of Clive Christian 1872 cologne, I’m just about ready. I move to my closet, pulling out the bag I’d brought in earlier when I returned from my workout. Inside is a flower bouquet, slightly wilted by now, but I couldn’t very well put them in the fridge as the florist suggested. Mollie would have seen them and the box of chocolates.
It’s entirely lame, cliché, and typical, but I can’t fucking help it. I’ve never brought a woman flowers or chocolate. The worst that’s going to happen is Mollie might laugh her ass off at me for being a sappy romantic. That most certainly won’t offend me. I’m sure I’ll be laughing right along with her, but she’ll get pretty flowers and expensive candy all the same.
The clock on my nightstand reads six-thirty. I’d told her to stay in the guest room with the door closed and I’d pick her up, and it’s time.
When I knock at the door, I feel the need to tug on my tie. My nerves are a bit frazzled, but I can’t because one hand holds the flowers and the other the chocolates.
Mollie opens the door, and I about swallow my tongue as I take her in. I’ve seen her dressed up before when we went to formal functions together in college, but I’m seeing her through a different lens right now.
Boyfriend eyes are a lot different than best-friend eyes, and I think she may be the most amazing creature I’ve ever beheld.
She does a little twirl, causing the skirt of her sky-blue dress to billow outward. It’s cinched tight at the waist, hanging to her knees in what looks like layers. The top hugs her body like a second skin, cut low in the front, and sits just off her shoulders. Mollie rocks the beachy-waved hair of a southern California girl. It cascades over her shoulders and down her back.
Around her throat is a fragile silver necklace I recognize immediately. I gave it to her for Christmas about four years ago. It has a small starfish charm on it. It isn’t anything fancy since we never exchanged expensive presents, but it is the first time I remember her wearing it.
Her fingers go there as she notices me staring at it.
My eyes move up to hers, and she looks as nervous as I feel. Still, it’s not hard to speak the truth. “You look beautiful. I’m seriously considering saying to hell with our date, then dragging you to bed.”
“Really?” she asks in a tone that says the idea is appealing to her as well.
“No, not really,” I say with a laugh, then present my gifts. “I got you flowers and chocolates, and I scored an exclusive table at the fanciest restaurant in Phoenix. We’re going on our first date, and we’re going to have a great time.”