Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
I should have put it in the fridge.
Wilder doesn’t look like he’s in a hurry, so I leave it.
I sneak a peek at what he’s doing with the roast, which is a mistake. Not only do I get a full side view of those red pants snugged around hard leg muscles and even harder… erm… yeah, not going there, but I get a full view of his hands, slicked up with oil, as he massages it into that big old piece of meat.
Official round two. Dead round two.
I free-fall straight into round three when he turns to grab the salt and pepper shakers from the spot right by the stove, and I get a full view of just how low those pants are riding. It’s all ass crack from this vantage point, which means… zero underwear.
I probably shouldn’t know that’s a thing, but I do.
Wilder hates wearing gotch with leather.
He’s suffered very few ill effects, despite what people might think about that.
He shakes salt and pepper onto the roast, smearing the shakers in oil. I don’t wince or cringe. I’m too captivated by his hips swaying and more ass crack revealing itself. Dear. Lord. Red. Again. It gives new meaning to a woman in a shop full of breakables.
Fucking hell, my panties are beyond redemption, and my shorts are now getting wet from watching this dirty display of roast preparation glory.
Wilder suddenly stops and stares at the salt and pepper. He realizes his mistake, but instead of getting me to fix it, he takes them straight to the sink and rinses them off. He washes his hands after, scrubbing every finger with soap. I still haven’t moved. I haven’t done anything other than stare like a creeper for the past few minutes. I’m transfixed by the way he uses the towel on those strong, calloused hands.
I know what those hands are capable of.
In a good way. Musically.
Why am I like every other woman who falls for a rockstar? What is it about talent that makes a person so unbelievably attractive?
Was it that? Realistically, I know I’m being hard on myself. I didn’t find Wilder hot at first. When I got the job, I was firmly rooted in the belief that he wasn’t my type. But then I started to pay attention. I got to know him. And then I realized he’s definitely my type because my type is kind, warm, soft-hearted, generous, dimpled, and rock hard assed.
God, not the last part.
What is going on with my brain?
Anyway, when I got to know him, that’s when it really started. The tingles. The crazy crush. The irrevocable falling harder and harder and further and deeper in love.
“Hey.”
I startle when I realize Wilder has turned around and is staring right at me, staring at him. Now we’re both staring at each other, staring at each other.
“Are you okay? You’re really pale. Do you need to sit down for a minute?”
That’s supposed to be my line. My role. I’m supposed to be the one taking care of him. Even if I’m not working for him anymore, I’m a natural caregiver. I always have been. I knew I wanted to be a nurse long before I was even in high school.
“I… I…” My brain glitches. It farts like Woof Woof Dog, blips, falls straight offline, goes into dark mode, and fucks me, my life, and the entire world. “I kind of love you.”
Chapter seven
Wilder
Ididn’t know mortification was a living, breathing thing, but alas, here we are.
Carissa freezes across from me with a look of horror so acute on her face that the roof of the house might as well have just been torn off by six-headed cow aliens flying in a giant spaceship and squirting green alien cow milk that immediately liquifies anything in its path.
To anyone else, this would be a what the fuck moment, but I hear those words hundreds, if not thousands, of times a day. Well, not every single day, but lots of days. I’m used to it.
“That’s fair.” I’m cautious, giving her an out. “I’m glad more people do than don’t, to be honest. Hate is just part of the job, but it’s unpleasant at the best of times. So, thank you. That’s nice.”
“No. Shit. Fuck. Shitfuck. I don’t love you.” She clenches and unclenches her hands at her sides, ready to kick space cow ass. Or run. Maybe both.
“That’s okay too.” Why is that a sucker punch straight to the gut? Why are my hands suddenly curling around the ledge of this island? And why the hell do I feel so cold on the inside? “You don’t have to. It was never a job requirement.”
“I don’t love you,” she whisper-screams. “I’m in love with you. I have been for years.”
Bam. There’s an honesty bomb for you.
Carissa has the courage of a lioness. She could easily have backed down and laughed it off, but she didn’t. Instead, she actively clarified what she meant. And now that she’s said it, she can’t unsay it. I can’t unhear it. It can’t unexist.