Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
It’s ridiculous and endearing all at once.
Avery is what a lot of men would call “high-maintenance,” and much like them, I used to find it intimidating. Women’s minds and emotions are complex enough on their own—add in a fifty-step routine you can’t interrupt or mess up with your own shit, and you’re talking about climbing a mountain of understanding. But it’s funny what a little perspective shift can do, and after spending every minute, awake and not, with Avery on that island, I feel like I understand her better than ever.
Just as the wind blows for adventure and high adrenaline for me, fashion and beauty do it for Avery. She’s passionate, and in my newly formed opinion, passion can’t be misplaced. She cares about it, and I care about her, so that’s all that matters.
Plus, it’s always but always a fucking adventure. The other night, she came to bed with this fucking hockey-mask-looking, Halloween-Jason-esque thing over her face and nearly gave me a heart attack. She told me it was red-light therapy, and before I knew it, she had me wearing the damn thing for the required twenty minutes to help heal any sun damage I got when we were stranded on the island.
“Thirteen days without sunscreen, Henry, is just asking for skin cancer,” she told me. “You need red-light therapy. And probably a skin peel, so I’ll work on getting you an appointment at Fredrick. Oh my gawd. I swear, that man has magic hands or something. His facials are heaven.”
I, of course, made the small mistake of asking who Fredrick was, and that led to her telling me all about her aesthetician Fredrick who does Botox and all sorts of other shit I can’t remember.
I told her that I was down for her to do whatever she felt she needed to, but that it wasn’t necessary for me to get to know Fredrick because I’m a man. But I got some kind of text message confirmation last night saying I have an appointment with Fredrick for a fucking face peel next week, so I’m pretty sure that boundary didn’t hold at all.
And you’ll probably end up going, too.
I laugh to myself as I glance toward the shower, the glass fogged but not enough to obscure Avery completely. She’s standing under the stream of water, her head tilted back as she rinses shampoo from her hair. Her skin is still tanned from our time on the island, her body etched into my memory in a way I’ll never shake.
Without hesitating, I strip off my boxers and step into the shower with her. The warm water hits my skin, and she doesn’t notice me at first, her eyes closed as she massages her scalp.
“Let me do it,” I say softly, my voice cutting through the sound of the water.
Her eyes flutter open, one brow arching as she peeks at me through the curtain of water. “Do what?”
“I know I probably don’t have Freddie’s magic hands, but…” I grin, stepping closer and gently turning her around so her back is to me. “Let me help.”
“Fredrick,” she corrects through a snort.
“My bad,” I tease and give my best—aka horrible—French accent. “Fredrick.”
“Oh my God, you’re so dumb.” Avery laughs. “Fredrick is from Jersey.”
I shrug and get to work on tangling my fingers into her hair. The strands are silky and warm beneath my palms, and I take my time, massaging the shampoo suds from her scalp and working my way down. She lets out a soft hum of approval, and it’s enough to make my chest tighten.
“Damn, Henry. You’re actually good at this,” she murmurs, her voice lazy with contentment.
“I have many talents,” I reply, my lips quirking into a smirk she can’t see.
When her hair is free of suds, my hands drift to her shoulders, kneading the tension there. She sighs, her head tipping forward slightly, and I take it as permission to keep going. My fingers trail lower, massaging her neck and then her back, tracing the delicate tan lines left by her bikini. Her skin is soft and warm, and I’m reminded of all the nights we spent together on the island cuddled together like we were the only safe thing in each other’s world.
I move my hands to her hips, brushing my fingers over the curve of her waist, and I’m hit with a wave of something I can’t quite name. It’s not just lust—though, judging by the hardness of my cock, there’s plenty of that too. But it’s something deeper, something that roots itself in my fucking bones and refuses to let go.
Avery glances over her shoulder at me, her eyes half lidded and soft. “You’re quiet,” she says, her tone light but curious.
I lean in, pressing my lips to the damp skin of her shoulder. “Just thinking,” I murmur against her.