Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 121887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Oh yes, this was a turnabout in the whole “we’re newly dating so I need to sleep at home” thing.
I didn’t care about that either.
Not after last night.
After all I’d seen and all he’d shared.
After we’d had pizza, then cuddled on the couch to watch a movie.
After we necked for a long time and Javi put a stop to it because he knew that’s what I wanted.
After we slept beside each other in his bed yet again, and I did not lie, last night and all the ones before, when I slept next to him, I did it like a baby.
I wasn’t fighting it anymore.
The best love story in the world was not Romeo and Juliet (because that mess was whacked).
It wasn’t Rhett and Scarlett (because, let’s face it, as fabulous as she was, Scarlett was a lot).
It sure wasn’t Antony and Cleopatra (I mean, who picked this stuff? None of them had a happy ending).
It was the pretty rich girl who was the outcast in her family, and the beautiful poor boy from the streets who never thought he’d catch her eye.
And by damn, they were going to have a happy ending.
On this thought, I finished my donut, took a sip of coffee and asked, “Can I set up my yoga mat in your empty bedroom?”
That got me a look that made my breasts swell before he tamed it and replied, “Sure.”
“Do you have a blender?”
“No.”
“A Bullet?”
He grinned at me. “I have a bunch of those.”
I slapped his arm and said, “No. The kind that mixes smoothies.”
“Then…no.”
“We need to go by my place and pick up some stuff.”
“Or we could just shift this to your place.”
This was a good suggestion.
But so far, none of his neighbors had come to his door to ask for a cup of sugar, to borrow a screwdriver, or request he help them solve a crime.
“It might be quieter here.”
His lips were quirking as he selected another donut (a bear claw this time, how could this man eat like this and have that body?), saying, “Whatever you want, Lolita.”
While I sipped coffee, I let him demolish his bear claw.
Once he’d washed it back with a swig of joe, I swung into action, doing this actually swinging in, straddling his lap, my knees in the sofa on either side of him.
He tipped his head back and rested his free hand on my hip.
“Babe,” he murmured.
I took that opportunity to do what I’d wanted to do since I first saw him.
I smoothed a finger over his perfect dark eyebrow.
“Harlow,” he whispered.
I ignored him, watching my hand move, then I switched to the other brow.
He wrapped his arm around my waist and leaned forward to set his coffee cup on the table.
He then sat back and wrapped both arms around me.
I looked into his eyes and requested quietly, “Can I buy you a throw blanket?”
“A what?”
“A throw blanket. A little blanket that’s comfy and snuggly, but attractive, so you can leave it out all the time by throwing it over the side of the couch.”
His brows knit. “Were you cold when you were writing in your book?”
But of course, he would think of me.
“No, but a throw blanket makes a house a home.”
Instantly after I spoke my words, he groaned, slouched deeper on the couch and put pressure on my back so I was plastered to him.
“We’ll go shopping,” he said throatily.
“You shop?”
“I’ll shop with you.”
He’d shop with me.
Official!
He was perfect.
Since this seemed to be going so well, I kept at it.
“I’ve seen this great lamp that would go fab over your couch.”
“Okay.”
“And you need an armchair, because every man needs an armchair. One that looks good but it’s really comfortable so he can watch games sitting in it.”
“I hear you,” he said.
“So you’re down to look at armchairs?”
“Pink and green and velvet with mushrooms and shells,” he murmured, like he was talking to himself.
But I was lost.
“What?”
“All soft and sweet.” He was still talking the same way. “My lil’ mama, shouldering in between two big men so she could see to her guy.”
At that, I shut right the heck up.
“Make a house a home,” he whispered, his eyes moving over my face.
“Yeah,” I whispered in return, my heart bleeding with understanding he had no idea how to do that, not because he was a man, but because he’d never had it. Then I took a chance. “No shade, sweetheart, but it doesn’t look like anyone lives here.”
He smoothed both his hands over my back. “Like I said, Lolita, I hear you. And just sayin’, I used to have some shit. But it was shit. I wasn’t used to having space that was mine. I couldn’t settle into the idea of being settled. I couldn’t wrap my head around spending money on stuff when I was used to having not much, and what I had sometimes I had to let go. It was like Tom Hanks in Castaway, when he got rescued and couldn’t sleep on a bed because he’d spent years sleeping rough.”