Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
“Except there is,” he counters. “Like how soft your skin is, how I woke up wanting to drink you down this morning, and how after one night, you’re all I’ve been thinking about.” His words heat my body, but then the embers are dashed out when he adds, “What kind of witchcraft is that?”
I snort, trying to stay amused. “If you think that’s witchcraft, you should spend some time with a coven because a hookup has nothing to do with it. I didn’t sneak you a love potion, didn’t bewitch you with my pussy or anything like that. I’m not playing some twisted game. More like the Sisters of Fate are fucking with me. I’m sure as shit not trying to trap you. I didn’t even know who you were.”
He’s quiet for a moment, his blue eyes searching my dark ones, and then he sighs. “You left. Why?”
It’s my turn to be pensive. “I didn’t want to do the ‘I’ll call you’ thing when I didn’t think you would. I left so you wouldn’t have a chance to string me along.”
He’s staring at me like I grew a second head out of my shoulder. Finally, he lets out a long, slow breath, then holds his hand out. “Let’s start over. Hi, I’m Chance Harrington.”
I look at his outstretched hand for a moment, not sure this a good idea, but with Luna, Carter, and Zack watching from afar, making more of a scene doesn’t seem like a good plan either. So I shake his hand gently. “Hi, I’m Samantha Redding, but you can call me Sam if you want.”
“Nice to meet you, Samantha.” He says my full name with a little extra emphasis on it, daring me to correct him. “Would you like to go ice skating with me?” His face is completely straight, but I can see the joke teasing at his lips. We’re at an ice rink and just had a big blow-up, so of course it seems like the only logical question.
Except it’s not. At all.
This whole thing might’ve been a big mix-up, no real fault on either of our parts. But I still feel betrayed. It doesn’t make sense, but his holding out on something as basic as his name feels like a big omission. Though it didn’t occur to me to think that until I found out what his last name is.
And I’m no better, sneaking out the way I did. He should be running for the hills.
But he’s heading for the desk where they rent skates, even though I didn’t agree. Visually, I measure the width of his shoulders, the taper to his waist, the long legs that I know are muscled and covered with blond hair. But what I’m really looking at is the man inside the sexy body, trying to figure him out.
Chance makes quick work of putting skates on, stands sure-footed, and holds his elbow out to escort me to the ice’s edge.
“What are you doing?” I ask blankly. “This” —I move my hand between us— “doesn’t make sense. Last night was great, but we both know what it was. It’s okay to walk away.”
“And if I don’t want to?” he counters.
I don’t have an answer to that. Instead, I find myself taking his elbow and letting him lead me onto the ice.
The din of the people around us is the only sound as we make a slow loop around the rink. I’m still trying to figure out how I ended up here.
Not literally, as in the ice rink. But with Chance Harrington.
I gave Luna so much shit when she got with Carter, but him? I threatened to feed Carter to a herd of pigs if he hurt her. Probably not the healthiest reaction I could’ve had, but I have issues with men after my dad’s shenanigans, and ones with money? Even less trustworthy, in my experience.
I’m giving Chance a way out—no hard feelings, no harm, no foul. Why isn’t he taking it?
“I’m remembering all the things Luna’s said about you now,” Chance says after a bit. “But I’d like to hear it from you. You’re a student, right?”
“Yeah, I don’t only sell dicks,” I say dryly, assuming he’s trying to make me into something I’m not. I’m not ashamed of my Bedroom Heaven sales gig, but it’s not something most people have a positive reaction to. I’ve definitely learned that over the last couple of weeks, and given that Chance is probably replaying my stage fall and subsequent talk about sex toys, it’s a logical leap. “Don’t get too excited, though. I’m a psychology grad student, focusing on intimacy and relationship counseling. In other words, I’m gonna be a sex therapist.”
I don’t need a psychology degree to know I’m trying to scare him off. Testing him and pushing buttons to get a reaction like my very own, small-scale, single-subject science experiment.