Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Lowry on New Year’s Eve. The plan is already in motion in her head. The asshole wins. He gets the girl, her midnight kiss, and being seduced at the Waldorf-Astoria.
Check. Check. And double check. Game. Set. Match.
Fuck my love life.
I was doing just fine before that four-letter word wasn’t around cock-blocking me to the pretties at the bar, and overcomplicating my life in general. If she wants him, she can have him. As for me, it’s all systems go and moving forward with the plan in place. Its not like I have any right to gripe about her sleeping with someone else. She’s single, and we’re not a couple.
Fuck. I can’t even believe I let the C-word slip from my mouth. Like the hipster warned, I need to watch my language.
When we enter the apartment, I help her with her coat and hang it on the hook. She takes her gloves off, and says, “Thank you again for these.”
“You’re welcome.” Silence starts to extend the distance that stands between us as I take my coat off and hang it up.
“Glass of water?” she asks from the kitchen.
“Sure.”
She comes back into the living room and hands me a tall glass. “Thank you for staying. I know . . . well, just know I want you here, Hardy.”
For some reason, my damn heart refuses to leave my sleeve. “I want to be here with you.”
Taking my hand, we walk into the bedroom together. She goes to the left side of the bed and sets her water on the nightstand, so I walk to the right side, setting mine down. “Guess you sleep on the left. Good thing because I sleep on the right.”
“It’s like we’re made for each other.” With that left behind lingering in the air around me, she goes into the bathroom and shuts the door.
I think I stare at that door for a good three minutes, maybe longer, her words replaying through my head. By the time I settle on the fact that she might have just admitted that she’s actually attracted to me I’ve already hashtagged that sucker and pocketed it for later in my notes app. Seems maybe my feelings aren’t as unwarranted as I once thought. Maybe. Just maybe we are made for each other.
#MFEO
Chapter Eighteen
Istand there like a goof, not sure what I’m supposed to be doing, so I undress like I was earlier, down to my boxer briefs and socks because my feet are cold. We change places—she crawls under the covers in her sweatpants and Resistance T-shirt and I go to the bathroom. Before the door closes, she says, “I set out a toothbrush for you.”
“Thanks.”
The blue brush is fully loaded with striped paste, so I wet it and go to town. I can only imagine how my breath is after shoving a wiener down my throat. Wait, what? Hot dog. Dirty birds.
While I scrub my pearly whites, I do what any guest would do—dig through the medicine cabinet and the one under the sink. There’s nothing too interesting other than everything. It’s like a mecca for nosy people who like to go the extra mile and snoop through people’s stuff. Cough drops, Vick’s VapoRub, Advil, Emergen-C packets, toothbrush and paste, an out of date prescription for Amoxicillin, tampons, and what do we have here—a box of extra large condoms in ribbed for her pleasure vanilla flavored. Damn, that’s got a lot going on. Whatever happened to it being used for protection? I like that she’s prepared. I now must torture-tease her about it.
I spit, rinse, and wrap up my business before taking the black box with neon yellow writing to bed with me. The overhead light is off and the room is dim except for the lamp on her nightstand. I climb under the fluffy blanket and toss the box on the bed between us.
Virginia’s gaze lands on it and her eyebrows shoot up. So to push this a bit further than I should for entertainment purposes only, I ask, “Do you have a vibrator?”
“Hardy,” she cautions, warning, or more like wanting, to end this already.
“Do you?”
She grabs her pillow and drags it flat down and flops back, then pulls the awesomely soft blanket over her head. “Yes.”
“Show me.”
The blanket is flapped down with authority. “No.”
“Yes.” I move down and rest on my elbow.
“No.” The firmness of her tone seconds earlier is teetering on giving in.
Reaching over, I rub my hand over her stomach. And even though I’m damn jealous that rock band gets to hang out on her chest, I get the pleasure of sliding it up and getting the real thing. I lean down and kiss her stomach while dipping my fingertips under the waistband of her sweatpants. “I want to watch you pleasure yourself.”
The scoff comes out stuck in the middle of a belly laugh. “No way.”