Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83771 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83771 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Grabbing the clothes she brought for me from the bed, I lock myself in his bathroom. His scent surrounds me.
I can’t believe, after crushing on him as hard as I did, that I’m finally here, in his room. That I slept in his bed, in his arms last night. The teenager McKenna would be thrilled at this turn of events.
Who am I kidding? The adult McKenna is too.
After my shower, I took my time getting dressed. Luckily Laramie and I are the same size, just like we’ve always been, and we have the same taste in clothes. She gave me a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a tank top. Some might think it’s weird to wear your best friend’s bra and panties, but they’re clean, and this is Laramie, my very best friend. There are worse things I could be wearing. The outfit is perfect for the Texas summer heat. Knowing I’ve stalled long enough, I pull open his bedroom door and make my way downstairs.
“There she is. I thought you fell back asleep,” Rip says as soon as I enter the kitchen.
“Sorry, the shower was too nice not to indulge.” I take a look around the room. The long kitchen island has six barstools. Colby and Laramie are occupying two on one end, while Rip and Corbin take up two on the opposite, leaving two in the middle. I spy a plate full of crispy bacon and pancakes and have to bite down on my cheek to keep from smiling.
“Kenna,” Rip says, my name pulling my attention away from breakfast. He’s standing with a plate that I assume is for me as he places it on the island next to where he was sitting. “Come and eat.”
“Why didn’t you make my plate?” Corbin asks.
“Because you don’t have legs like McKenna,” Colby fires back.
“Is that how it is?” Corbin chuckles.
My eyes are locked on Rip. He smiles and shrugs before pulling out the barstool next to him, motioning for me to sit.
My eyes flash to my best friend, who’s grinning from ear to ear. She mouths, “Told you,” before turning back around and focusing on her plate.
My feet carry me to the seat Rip insisted that I take, and I sit.
“What do you want to drink?” Rip asks.
“Oh, I can get it.” I start to stand, but his hand on my shoulder stops me.
He bends close, his hot breath brushing across my face. Goose bumps break out on my skin when he says, “Tell me what you want, Kenna.”
You. The deep timbre of his voice and the way that his hand traces down my bare arm tells me he’s not just asking what I want to drink. At least I don’t think he is. I’ve not dated much. I wasn’t kidding when I told Rip the guys at school were not my type. Give me a man in boots and well-worn jeans any day over sweater vests and loafers. “Juice is fine.”
“You want some coffee too?”
“Um… sure. I can get it,” I offer again.
“Let me take care of you,” he says, his voice low and only for me. He stands and walks around the counter, pulling a mug out of the cabinet and pouring me a cup of coffee. “Black?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” I take the offered cup when he hands it to me. I sip the nectar of the gods while I watch him also pour me a small glass of juice and slide it across the island. When he takes his seat next to me, I set my coffee down and settle down to eat. Just before I take my first bite, his large hand lands on my thigh. I pause and glance over at him out of the corner of my eye, but he’s just taken a huge bite of bacon, his head turned toward Corbin, listening to whatever it is he’s saying.
Turning to my left, I look over at Laramie, who’s ignoring me for her fiancé. I get it. They just got engaged last night, but I need backup. I don’t know what’s happening here. It’s as if I came home to the twilight zone. Every dream I’ve ever had about Rip wanting me is suddenly the only thing I can think about. Five years ago, before I left for college, I would have given anything for him to notice me. Here I am five years later, and I’m preening from his attention. I don’t know what any of this means.
“You not hungry?” Rip asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
“No. It’s good. Thank you.”
“You okay?” He gives my thigh a gentle squeeze.
No. I am not okay. Why are you touching me? Please don’t ever stop. Instead, I say, “Yeah, just still tired, I guess. Thank you for this.”
He leans in close. “You’re welcome.” He pulls away and digs into his breakfast as though nothing has changed. Like he’s not spinning my mind or my heart in circles. I want to ask him what all of this means. I want to know if his kisses, and his tender touch, mean something to him, like it does to me, but part of me thinks this attraction between us is all in my head. He’s just being flirty and friendly.