Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Waiting on us, she stands there in her beauty that I’m not sure she’s fully aware of. She wavers between an innocence that peeks through like sunshine on a cloudy day, and on the flip side, she’s proficient and even eager to please to get her job done. But it’s the third wild element that’s most captivating. Her shoulders ease, and a smile comes without warning when we dance around the suggestion of anything sexual. I’m so used to women being forward and telling me exactly what they want in the bedroom. Plenty are happy to hide their motives for fame, even the adjacent ones, and access to money. Mine, specifically.
It’s uninteresting.
Summer Season is anything but boring. There’s not been an ounce of wanting anything from me other than to make sure we’re taken care of and having a good time. She treats me so normal like I’m not me, I’m not Daniel Sutton, super star right wing for the Brooklyn Breakaways, not famous or even known. It’s refreshing. I appreciate her efforts not to make a big deal out of me. That’s all I get in the city. It’s a nice change here in the Cove.
When I reach her, she enters the back room. “Dolly, this is our Cove Cottage tenant for the summer, Daniel—”
“Sutton,” her grandmother fills in as if it’s been waiting on the tip of her tongue. Rushing past her granddaughter, she swoops right into me, wrapping her arms around my body like a vise grip.
“Yes.” That is practically gut punched out of me when her Dolly clings to me when a handshake would have sufficed. “We’re hugging. Okay. Alright.” I pat her gently as the short woman buries her head against my abs. “You got a good hold on me there, Dolly.”
Summer takes her arm with a laugh that’s bordering on awkwardness as her eyes dart from me to Dolly again. “She sure does. Let’s wrap this up and let Mr. Sutton breathe again, Grandma.”
Dolly releases me as soon as “Grandma” comes out of her mouth. “Mind your manners, ma’am,” she snaps at Summer.
Summer wraps her arms around Dolly from behind, and I can’t determine if it’s a hug or a restraint tactic. “You too,” she teases right back. “This is Daniel’s son, Roman.”
Dolly leans down and taps his nose. “Do you like cookies?”
“I like cookies a lot.”
“How do you feel about chocolate chip?”
If captured, the excitement on Roman’s face could light up an arena. “They’re my favorite.”
She says, “You’re in luck. I was just about to bake some.” That’s all it takes for Dolly to win over my son. Though, I’m weak to a good cookie too, so I don’t blame him. Roman gets wrapped under her arm, leading him to the kitchen. “Summer, show our guest around.”
“My mom likes snickerdoodles.” I can hear him telling her about his mom when I didn’t even know that about Mia. Why would I, though? We didn’t make it past a second date before we were trying to figure out the logistics of raising a son when we weren’t together.
It’s all worked out, but I’m glad Roman knows that kind of stuff.
“She forgets we’re grown sometimes,” Summer says, tapping the toe of her shoe on the floor.
She’s all grown, alright. “I’m sure it’s still great to have her close.”
Straightening her posture and standing on two feet again, she has a shine in her eyes that’s brightened since we arrived. “It is.” Presenting the room in front of us, she says, “The family room.” Looking at the corner, she waffles. “The kitchen is back there. The dining room up front and the bathroom. We came here so you could use it, so don’t be shy.”
“I’m good.” I glance at the stairs. “What’s upstairs?”
She laughs, pressing her hand to her chest and rubbing gently. “We’re not going upstairs.” Grabbing hold of a baluster that wobbles, she stills it and takes two steps up. Incredibly, she’s still shorter than me. “We got wet together. That was all.”
“Getting wet together justifies a tour up there, if you ask me.”
“That’s why I’m not asking.” Eyeing her lips as she licks them and then sucks the bottom under her top teeth, I realize that resisting her is going to be a challenge. “But can I ask you something personal?”
“I like when we get personal.”
Her hold on the wood tightens, whitening her fingertips. Nervous? “Are you always this flirtatious?”
“Is that what this is? Flirting?” I tilt my head to study the minutest of reactions she’s willing to reveal—the quick gnaw on the inside of her cheek, the sway of her body, her gaze distancing when she’s deep in thought.
“If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck—”
“I think it’s safe to call this a duck. But to answer your question, no, I’m not.”