Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 139088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
That said, the hems of his jeans didn’t line up with the waistbands, so I adjusted those. And he just tossed his button downs on a hanger without buttoning the top button to make them hang right, so I dealt with those too.
When I went to the bathroom though, I had to back out immediately, wipe it from my brain and take it on another day (I already knew Knox wasn’t a primper, as such, but he did shave, have product for his hair, was into cologne, and he was the only man I’d ever known (and I approved of this) who took as good care of his skin as I did—we weren’t talking serums or anything, but he didn’t wash his face with a bar of soap and go out to take on the day; facewash and moisturizer were involved).
Knox made a mustard-honey-rosemary marinade for the pork tenderloin and set it in the fridge. When the time came, we paired it with leftover hash brown casserole, sautéed green beans and Pilsbury crescent rolls and ate in front of the TV.
I did this thinking it was a mixed bag day.
The Angels were officially out on the Chambers Family Drama, which was good.
We couldn’t do anything about Cheyenne, which was bad.
She’d lost it on Knox, and that was worse.
But there might be an enemies to lovers sitch we could watch happening between Jayden and Clarice, which was awesome.
And it was undoubtedly someone in Knox’s family who ordered a man’s death, and that was hideous.
But we started the day together.
And we were ending it together.
So bottom line, it was perfect.
EIGHTEEN
DEAL
The next morning, we were fucking while spooning.
This was good and it was bad.
The good parts were obvious.
The bad part was that I could barely touch Knox while he was fucking me.
Then again, I was realizing (hazily), that was the point.
Knox was always greedy.
But he was also a giver.
Due to this, naturally, I came first.
With his face buried in my hair, he came after.
We lay together, unmoving, for lazy, satisfied moments before Knox kissed my shoulder, moved to my ear and murmured, “I’ll hit the bathroom first, then take Jacques out.”
I didn’t think I did or ever would.
But the truth was, I’d forgotten how good so much of this felt.
Morning sex.
Sitting next to someone on the couch eating dinner in front of the television.
Having a partner who’d take the dog out so you could laze in bed or go about your business.
Therefore, I said, “That’s a plan.”
He slid away from me.
When he came back to pull on some clothes, I got out of bed, stopped to give him a kiss, then went to the bathroom.
By the time they returned, I’d brushed, flossed, washed my face and had our coffees and Jacques’s breakfast ready.
Once I handed Knox his mug, he bent to touch his mouth to mine and said, “Gonna go lie down. Don’t freak, but my body’s telling me I overdid it this weekend, and I need to chill. I’m not in pain, just a little achy.”
I sucked my lips between my teeth so I wouldn’t say anything.
He watched me do this and muttered, “Good call.”
I let my lips go to ask, “Are you still going into the office today?”
“Yeah. I arranged it so we’ll be done around the time your shift is over. I’ll call one of the guys to take me. Can you swing ’round and pick me up after work?”
I’d pick him up after he shared a beer with Joseph Stalin.
See?
We had this partner stuff down already.
“Absolutely.”
He gave me another lip touch and took his coffee to bed.
Jacques, having snarfed down his breakfast through our convo, looked after him.
He then looked at me.
Back down the hall.
At me.
Then he trotted down the hall.
I took no offense.
If my choice was to watch some woman shower and put on clothes and makeup (even if that woman fed me and gave me more than my fair share of snuggles), or cuddle in bed with Knox, I’d be trotting down the hall too.
As I idled in the suicide lane, waiting for my chance to take my turn, I scanned to ascertain if I saw Cheyenne or her car (yeah, like Jayden said, this shit was insidious), then I gave up on that and looked at The Surf Club.
One of the front windows was taken with the sign for Willow’s Good Stuff, a business she ran alongside SC.
The other window had a revolving daily display of Tex’s sketchy artwork, considering he used a tube of white shoe polish on the window to declare the day’s coffee special, and he always drew his version of what that special would be.
And today’s looked pornographic.
There was something that might be a mattress, and a flood of something else was pouring down on it with some shoe polish dots rising up from it.