Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
As it was, though, I mostly only got invited to places Brio and my sister were going to attend. Even then, not always.
I was (and as much as I hated to admit it) and would always be on the outskirts of the Costa Family. A sort-of relative that the primary members of the family seemed to forget about as soon as I was out of the room.
The only way I’d be an insider would be to marry one of the guys. And as much as I loved them all, it was a sibling-type connection. At least to them. I was sure I could develop feelings toward one of them if they showed it to me. The problem was that I was a lot younger than most of them. And the ones that were more age-appropriate were not viable options.
Nero, Miko’s little brother, who was still too green.
Zeno, who loved his computer more than having clean clothes to wear.
Gavino, who I probably knew the least about since the man never seemed to leave his apartment.
“Alara?”
“Hm?” I asked, zoning back in to realize Christopher was staring at me like he’d asked me something.
“You’re trembling.”
“I’m literally wet through to my underwear,” I admitted.
I couldn’t tell if I was hard-up and looking through wishful eyes or if his gaze genuinely dipped to my chest. Almost like he was trying to imagine what was beneath.
“One second,” he said, turning and walking away.
I watched him go, some part of me wondering if he was trying to walk off a hard-on. But that would be pretty pathetic. Then again, maybe he was in as long a dry spell as I was. I was days away from sitting on the washing machine at the laundromat. Or taking that dude at the corner store up on his relentless flirtation.
Alone, I turned back to the coffee machine, unplugging and plugging it back in because it never failed to amaze me how many things that simple move could fix.
Alas, it seemed old Bunn was finally heading to a landfill. And I was going to be going without coffee. Because no matter how good business was, spending five to seven bucks for coffee that would cost me cents at home was insane. If I was going to splurge, it was going to be for something I couldn’t make myself. Like, you know, food. I lived on frozen meals and sandwiches most of the time.
Which, if you think about it, was another reason I would never be a Costa wife. They all knew how to cook. And I wasn’t patient enough to learn.
I heard the chime as Christopher came back a few minutes later.
Then there he was, carrying two wet brown bags.
“What’s this?”
“Instant coffee,” he said, pulling a glass bottle out of one bag. “Not ideal. But it will do in a pinch. I have a feeling that you are not someone anyone wants to be around when you’re not caffeinated.”
“You’re not wrong,” I agreed. He sprang for the creamy blonde roast variety, too. Which was the only drinkable one, in my humble opinion. “What’s in there?” I asked, nodding to the fuller bag, hoping it might be bagels.
He set the bag on the counter and reached inside to pull out a white tee with an I <3 NYC design on the front.
“It’s all they had,” he said as I eyed it.
“That’s okay. I do love the city,” I said, reaching to whip off my hoodie, leaving me in just a plain beige bra.
This time, there was no mistaking the way his gaze dipped and lingered before he finally forced it back up.
I reached for the tee, pulling it on, then reaching under to unfasten the back, then doing the magic trick to pull the bra out of my sleeve.
Christopher tracked the movement, eyes on the bra for a second, then sliding back over my chest where my cold-hardened nipples were pressing against the material.
Heat bloomed, chasing away the chill from being soaked.
I took a deep breath just to watch how his eyes went heavy-lidded as he watched my breasts press more fully against the fabric.
“Is there something still in the bag?” I asked before I could do something stupid like jump on him and demand he fuck me.
“Uh, yeah.” He cleared his throat and tugged at his tie. Bothered. The man was hot and bothered. And I took way more pleasure in that than I should have. He reached into the bag. “Sweatpants. Your pants are three inches deep in puddle water.”
He wasn’t wrong.
“Had to guess on the size, but they had a drawstring, so—oh,” he trailed off as I pushed my pants down off my hips after kicking off my shoes.
Were my pink and purple polka dot panties the sexiest pair I owned? Not by a long shot. But that didn’t seem to matter to Christopher.