Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
She’s twenty-fucking-four. It’s beyond astounding.
She was gorgeous when we ate those massive subs outside the little restaurant, sitting outside on a lonely side patio facing a tropical-themed mural with not a soul around.
She was beyond anything I could have expected when we got into the back of the cab, and the guy kept staring at my face. It wasn’t his fault. He was old. I have scars, so it’s natural to stare. But then he asked if it was my real face. I was two seconds away from panicking and melting down, even though I’d tried to prepare myself for the eventuality of being out in the world again. Dulcie saved me. She laughed and went into a big, long story about being a film student and practicing her prosthetics, and she did it so convincingly that by the end of the cab ride, our driver was asking her multiple questions about film techniques and how she got the skin to look so real. Dulcie had an answer for everything.
As soon as we got into the lobby, and I checked in, still uncomfortable at the way the front desk clerk appeared shocked at my face and then looked everywhere but, Dulcie explained she’d taken a ton of film classes as electives and had a few friends who were majoring in it. They practiced hair and makeup on her often.
She’s sunshine as she flings open the door to the suite. There are only a few hotels in Marietta. The town attracts a lot of historical tourists for its old-timey vibes. This place is definitely rocking the Victorian aspect, with heavy drapery, gold-framed art, plush carpets, and an ornate bed fit for royalty.
“Holy pie balls!” Dulcie rushes in ahead of me and inspects everything. She dances her way to the middle of the room while I remain by the door. Then, she makes a rectangle with her fingers and frames me between them. “New trend. We send each other absolutely random photos. The most random stuff you can imagine.”
I let my duffel fall to the floor, the strain of the day cascading down over my head like a bucket of water, dousing me half in exhaustion and half electrifying me because I know there’s more coming. Today was just a taste.
Of the world. The bakery. Dulcie’s parents. Us.
Okay, so it was more like a mouthful that I repeatedly choked on, but I survived.
“Like what?” I ask, about to tell her that it should be herself she’s framing in those finger photos, not me. She’s the beautiful one. The remarkable one. The light. A fucking queen.
She rushes into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her. I nearly groan. If she sends me a filthy photo, there’s no way I’m going to be able to cope like a gentleman right now.
Or ever.
Just the thought of it has my dick thickening in my jeans and my pulse quickening.
My phone dings. I pull it out, afraid to check, but then laugh under my breath when the first photo in the series is the underside of the toilet tank. Close-ups of the floor grout between the tiles, the hot water tap, and the mini shampoo bottle follow.
Then, the door flings open, and she’s there. Radiant, smiling, stopping my damn heart, and knocking the breath right out of my lungs.
She seriously just told her parents that she wants me. She made it sound like I’m it for her, and we survived. She walked with me, fed me at the world’s best sub shop, and stood between me and the world until we got to this room.
She’s nothing short of miraculous. She could be mine, and I could be hers. I think we’ve already established with each other that that’s the direction we’d like to head in, but it’s far more official now. She’s told the people she loves the most in the world.
Dulcie takes out her phone and puts on a song.
But not just any song.
She puts on one of my favorite punk rock songs, but there’s no way she could know that. I don’t even know how she found it, as it’s so obscure.
“How—” I gasp.
She winks at me. “I might have been doing some extremely comprehensive research in the form of listening to a ton of this lately. You birthed a love in me that I didn’t know existed.”
All I can do is gape at her, but she’s much more eloquent. She cranks the volume on her phone, tosses it onto the carved nightstand with the marble top, then kicks off her shoes and gets up on the bed. I have visions of this going all wrong and her breaking the bed. But it would be worth every penny the hotel would gouge me for it, and then some. She could break every bed in here by dancing on them. Fuck, I’d buy this whole hotel for her if that’s what she wanted.