Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
I snort. “Well, whoever ordered the snacks for this place doesn’t know good snacks. There are no bed snacks.”
“Bed snacks?”
“Yeah. Bed snacks.” I put a piece of pepperoni on a cracker and hand it to her. “Bed snacks are the snacks you get for the sole purpose of eating in bed. For me, that’s cashews, devil’s food cookies, and Chex Mix. I won’t eat it any other time, but if I get up in the middle of the night, that’s what I want.”
“Oh. Well …” She averts her eyes from mine. “There are no bed snacks because Eton didn’t eat in bed.”
I make a face.
“I know.” She shoves the cracker in her mouth. “He thought it was trash behavior and if you wanted to eat, you could go get a small plate and sit down in the kitchen.”
Penny-pinching, controlling, cheater, and boring as fuck. It keeps getting better.
“Where did you find this guy?”
“At an art gallery.”
I make myself a pepperoni cracker. “That was your first mistake.”
“One of many. But I’ll have you know that he didn’t eat anything in bed.”
I lift a brow. “Anything?”
“Nothing.”
What. The. Fuck. Let’s add beyond selfish to that fuckhead’s list of alluring attributes. Asshole.
I shove the cracker in my mouth and then make us each another one.
Ashley is so physical. She enjoyed herself so much tonight—both being pleasured and doling it out. She fed off the connection, off the confidence, and off knowing how desirable she is to me.
Did she go all that time without that?
“So you’re telling me that you were with him for two years and he didn’t eat your pussy once?”
“That’s what I’m telling you.” She nibbles the edge of the pepperoni. “Our relationship wasn’t physical. I mean, we fucked sometimes.” She reconsiders. “I’m going to take that back. After tonight, what Eton and I did was not fucking. I’m not sure what I would call it.”
I lift my chin. That’s not bad for the ol’ ego.
“I basically laid there, he’d get on top of me, and then he’d get off,” she says.
“And you were okay with that?” I ask, looking at her out of the corner of my eye.
She holds out her palm and I put another cracker in it. “Let’s just say that I wasn’t quite myself during that relationship. He caught me at a bad time when I was questioning a lot of things. Questioning myself. Hurting in a lot of ways. Now I think that’s precisely why he singled me out.” She shrugs. “It was a power trip. I was weak and he got off on manipulating me.”
“Fuck that guy,” I say, chomping a cracker harder than necessary.
“What about you?” She elbows me in the side. “Who was your last girlfriend?”
I set the packages down between us and sigh. “I don’t remember.”
“Come on, Mad.”
“I don’t.”
“You’re such a liar. I tell you everything about Eton and you won’t even tell me who she is? That’s shady.”
I blow out a breath and consider what to do.
Do I tell her the truth, even though she won’t believe me? Then she’ll think I’m lying. But if I make something up, she won’t really know that I’m not out running the streets like she thinks I am.
“Just tell me.” The wrappers crinkle as she moves beside me. “It’s weird if you don’t.”
“Fine. I think the last person I actually dated, if you want to call it that, was a girl from Sunnyvale around Christmas. We were over before the holidays, but it was last winter.” And we didn’t sleep together. There just wasn’t a spark.
She looks skeptical.
“I took Martie out for dinner a couple of times. Do you remember her? She works at the bank down by the causeway.”
She nods.
“And …” I think. “That’s all I really have for you. Honest to God.”
Her arms cross over her chest.
“I mean it. I know you think I just plow through the women, but I don’t.”
“How?”
I laugh. “How what?”
“How do you not go through women? Look at you. Your phone must ring off the freaking hook.”
“Well, thank you for that vote of confidence. And I’m not saying I don’t get my fair share of offers, but that doesn’t mean that I take them.”
She narrows her eyes. “Why?”
I slide down the pillows so I’m lying flat. I stare at the ceiling. “Maybe I’m just fling material, Ash.” I wink at her. “You can’t deny that I’m pretty good at it.”
She chuckles. “Yes, Mr. Carmichael, I do know that. And I’m looking forward to additional demonstrations of your fling talents.”
As. Am. I.
We both laugh.
Although it may appear flippant, I have actually thought a lot about this—I am a middle child, after all—and I owe it to Ashley to be honest.
I take a breath. “Okay, here goes. Remember, I’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“Teach me your wisdom, Master Yoda.”
I roll my e yes. “Smart-ass.”