Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Michaela got it. “You didn’t want me to judge you and spoil your fun.”
“I know you wouldn’t judge me, but you’d worry about me. Only, you have to understand I’m not a spring chicken.” Then she flashed Michaela the biggest smile. “And sometimes girls just want to have fun.”
Flo Killian had worked hard all her life. Fun had never been in her lexicon, not until the last couple of years when she no longer had to work.
Michaela couldn’t lay her own fears and drama on her mother. It wasn’t fair. Reaching across the table, she squeezed her hand. “You deserve all the fun you can get.” She hoped everything she felt shone in her eyes. “And I love you.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. I love you too.”
Her mother had always told her everything would be okay. She had to believe that would be true for Flo too.
But that meant Michaela would be alone on Saturday night.
How was she supposed to resist temptation in the form of Troy Harrington?
At eleven o’clock that night, after she and her mother had watched Pretty Woman and Flo had gone to bed—though Michaela heard her talking on the phone—she lost the will to resist.
Troy had proven himself to be nothing other than upstanding, kind, and a really great guy. He’d been wonderful with those foster kids. He loved his family. They’d been the support team who’d helped him achieve his goals. He wasn’t afraid to admit he’d accepted help and that he was grateful for it. Feeling gratitude was another important attribute.
She heard her mother’s voice again. Everything will be okay.
That went for Flo’s date with Walter Braedon. Maybe it went for Michaela too.
She whispered aloud, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” She was about to break her rule. And she typed out a text.
You said you missed the game nights you used to have with your family. Would you like to get together tomorrow for a game night?
Troy’s heart skipped a beat. Then two. Then three.
He wanted to text back and ask if this would be a date.
But he didn’t want to push his luck. Instead, he replied, I’d love a game night. And left it at that. But he was dying to know what she had planned. Flo would probably be there too.
Sitting in a comfortable chair in front of the floor-to-ceiling window of his bedroom, he stared into the dark forest that lay beyond the pool. A string of solar lights he’d installed spotlighted the nearby trees. He’d been musing over his next date with Michaela since Wednesday night. And dammit, nothing had come to him. What the hell was the perfect date?
When she pinged him, he knew: a date she initiated.
Half an hour ago, he’d gone for his customary night swim, then a cold plunge, then fifteen minutes in the sauna. His body felt exquisitely primed for her text. For her.
When his phone pinged again, he read the words he so badly wanted.
Why don’t you come over here? I’ll make us dinner.
Before he could reply, another text popped up.
Mom’s going up to the city to see a show.
Holy hell. They’d be alone. In her house. Playing games.
Except with Michaela, nothing was a game. He was playing for keeps.
Chapter Seventeen
On Saturday night, Flo wore a flirty black cocktail number that emphasized her trim waist, something she’d supposedly whipped out in a day, though Michaela was sure she’d been working on it long before that. Which meant her mother had known about this date days before she’d told Michaela.
Don’t think about it. She’d kept secrets, too, like that first amazing kiss on the boat.
When Walter Braedon pulled up in front of the townhouse, Flo rushed out the door, not even waiting for him to get out of the car and ring the bell.
Obviously, her mother thought Michaela would grill him like a dad sending his daughter off to the senior prom with a boy he’d never met. Michaela pulled aside the curtain on the long window beside the door and peeked out.
Good Lord, it was a limousine. And the handsome silver fox—Walter Braedon certainly qualified—climbed out and held the door open. He didn’t even let his driver do it. But he did hand Flo’s overnight case to the man, who put it in the limo’s trunk.
Then, oh my God, Walter Braedon kissed her. And it was no simple peck on the cheek.
All Michaela’s fevered mind could think was, Don’t let there be any tongue involved.
Okay, she was thinking like the prom queen’s dad.
Troy would be here in fifteen minutes. Michaela had dressed in leggings and a thin thigh-length sweater over a lacy camisole.
As well as lacy unmentionables. Which she had not told her mother about.
Michaela was no slouch when it came to cooking. Flo made all the meals now, since Michaela was working. But when Michaela was in middle school and high school, she’d prepared all the meals. Tonight, she’d made enchiladas from scratch, even guacamole, which was so much better than store-bought.