Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
She smiles, then takes off. Soon, I close the rink, send a thank you message to the owners—Hank and Marla—and head outside as my phone pings with a reply from Marla, a long row of smiley faces and snowflakes. The sun is up now, shining brightly above the horizon as I drive home, energized by the lesson.
Home.
The word drifts through my mind again. I haven’t really felt like I’ve had a home recently, not after bouncing from Isla’s couch to Starla’s micro-studio over the summer, and before that…well, Fuck Chad’s place doesn’t count.
What a weird thought—to think of Tyler’s house as my home. Well, it’s my home for now, and I suppose that’s all I can ask for.
I pull into the garage next to his sleek electric car. He’s probably inside, getting the kids ready for school.
Since I don’t need to “clock in” just yet, I head to my apartment, tug off my skating clothes, and grab a navy blue towel as I turn on the shower. Is this my towel? It’s fluffier than I remember, and it smells fresh and new. Must be one of Tyler’s guest towels.
The steam begins filling the stall as the water heats up. I’m about to step in when I glance at the shower shelf.
“Seriously?” I groan.
I forgot to bring my shampoo and conditioner inside yesterday. Bet that’s what’s in the canvas bag on the floor of my car.
After turning off the water, I wrap the towel tightly around myself, grab my car keys, and peer into the hallway. It’s quiet, and the garage door is only a few feet away.
I dart across the hall, open the door, and head to my car, pressing the key fob to unlock it.
“Gotcha,” I mutter, snatching the bag and shutting the door loudly. But when I spin around, I freeze.
I’m not alone.
The hot dad I work for is standing in the garage, dressed in a gray college T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts, staring at me with eyes as wide as Moon Pies.
In no time, I grab at the top of my towel, tugging it higher above my breasts. Decorum and all. “I was getting shampoo. And conditioner,” I offer hastily, as if that explains everything.
Even though I could have put on clothes. But I took a chance.
Tyler’s silent for a beat, his jaw slack. Then he clears his throat and, several seconds later, blurts, “I was…getting some sausage from…” He points vaguely at the white freezer on the far side of the garage.
“The freezer?” I supply, since speech seems to be failing him.
“Um. Yeah. The freezer,” he says thickly, his voice rough, sending a rush of heat down my spine.
With my free hand, I smooth the bottom of the towel, making sure it’s securely in place. Except…a very naughty devil on my shoulder has half a mind to say, “So…want to throw me down on the bed and devour me?”
At least, those look like eyes that want to devour a woman. Pupils dilated. Intense eye contact. Heat.
I think?
What do I know?
I only know Fuck Chad.
But I want to know what it’s like to be wanted. To be adored. To be devoured. To be…
He exhales sharply, like he’s trying to regain control. “I should—”
“Get the sausage?” I suggest, and…oh, does that sound dirty.
“It’s veggie sausage,” he adds quickly. “For…Luna.”
“Sounds good,” I say, my voice a little too breathy.
“I can make you some.”
That sounds good, too, so I nod. “Yes.” I point toward the door, which he’s still blocking. “I need to…shower.”
He shuffles aside, awkwardly, which is unexpected from a man who moves his body for a living. He winces. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to walk in on you.”
“You didn’t really walk in on me. I’m the one standing here in a towel,” I say with a laugh, though my pulse is pounding. “I guess I should probably put clothes on next time.”
“It was my fault,” he says, though he still hasn’t moved completely out of the way.
“I’ll make sure I’m dressed next time,” I add, but my breath is coming faster now. And his eyes…his eyes look like those of a man who wants to devour.
A devourer.
Is that a thing?
It should be a thing.
“I’m just going to…go,” I say, backing toward the door.
“Be sure to come upstairs,” he calls after me.
I glance at him, up and down, before stepping inside. “Yes. For sausage.”
I scurry back inside, clutching the towel tightly. As I reach my apartment, it hits me once more—this is not my towel.
Stopping in my tracks, I spin around and grab the door before it shuts.
“Tyler?” I call out, even though I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be this close to him when I’m nearly naked. But my heart is racing, and my skin feels warmer. I feel alive in my body when I’m near him, and even though I know I should resist, I can’t seem to stop myself.