Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 31927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
We make a dent in the feast, talking about everything and nothing. She tells me about her day, and I grumble about the new firefighter’s latest fuck up. Every so often, I catch her glancing at the orange bastard still sulking in the armchair.
There’s a beat where neither of us talks, just breathing the same space, while the orange cat still glares at me, but now he looks a little less homicidal.
I let my gaze sweep the apartment one more time. It’s not the perfectly staged shit you see in magazines. It’s better. Real. There’s so much of Elsie in every detail, it makes my chest go tight. She’s the kind of woman who’d wake up at three a.m. to check on a sick animal, then come home, and still remember to feed the cat before passing out on the couch in her scrubs. The kind of woman who collects goofy mugs instead of wine glasses, who chooses pet beds over bar carts, who builds kingdoms out of cat towers, just because her beast likes to perch where he can judge the world.
She’s fucking perfect.
And she’s looking at me like maybe, just maybe, she thinks I’m pretty damn good, too.
I lift my glass of water in a silent toast, feeling the icy glass against my skin. “To surviving the wrath of Mr. Snugglebutt.”
Elsie clinks her glass to mine, laughter bubbling up in her throat. “May the odds be ever in your favor,” Elsie says, her voice just on the edge of a giggle.
Her cheeks flush as she takes a sip, and I can’t fucking look away. I want to see her laugh like this every goddamn day.
Mr. Snugglebutt jumps up on the arm of her couch, glaring at me like he’s plotting my murder. The orange bastard’s so huge he could bench press my wiener dog without breaking a sweat. I stare him down, giving him my best Don’t-Fuck-With-Me face, but he just blinks slowly and curls one paw around a catnip mouse like a fucking trophy. Ballsy. I think this fucker is trying to warn me off.
Not likely, buddy. I’m in this for the long haul.
And as I watch Elsie wipe a smear of salsa from her chin with the back of her hand, grinning at me like I’m the best fucking thing that’s ever walked into her living room, I realize I haven’t felt this damn happy in forever.
If this is what chaos looks like, count me in.
Elsie’s sitting cross-legged right next to me, her hair a goddamn mess and her cheeks flushed, laughing like I actually did something funny. Fuck. I want to eat her alive.
Mr. Snugglebutt levels that psycho cat glare at me from the arm of the couch, but now he’s only half-hearted about it. I see right through his game. He’s jealous, and not just because I brought legit Mexican food. He senses his girl’s into me, and the bastard’s plotting my murder. Joke’s on him—I’m not letting her go, ever.
“Do you want to watch something?” Elsie asks, catching me staring. She’s so fucking pretty it hurts to look straight at her.
“Sure. Whatever you want.” My voice comes out low. I want to haul her into my lap and see how fast she melts for me.
She starts flipping through her streaming apps, and the remote nearly slips out of her hand. I snag it before it can hit the floor, our hands colliding midair. Electricity zaps straight through my skin. Jesus, the heat is instant. I want to yank her into my lap and kiss her until she forgets her own name, but my mind short-circuits and I end up coughing like a fucking idiot as I hand her back the remote. Smooth, Hot. Real smooth.
She bites back this shy little laugh, pink blooming across her cheeks. “Guess I need to work on my grip,” she mumbles, refusing to look me in the eye.
“You’re doing fine,” I rumble, voice way too low. My knee bumps her, sending electricity flowing down my spine. She sucks in a breath as I stare at her mouth.
Fuck it. I can’t wait another second. I slide my hand behind her neck and pull her toward me, crushing my lips to hers. Instantly, I lose all sense of control. Her lips are soft and sweet, tasting like lime and heat and everything I crave. She gasps against my mouth, and I groan as her hands fist in my shirt, yanking me closer until there’s not a single inch between us.
Her ass is barely on the couch now, pressed right up against me. I tangle my fingers in that wild red hair and take the kiss deeper, biting her lip and sucking until she moans. Jesus. I could get drunk on the taste of her. No going back now—I’m never letting her go.