Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 86596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Because I’m a pervert, that’s why. And why shouldn’t I be? Who says being a perv is a male thing? Women can be sexually driven creatures too, sheesh!
“You’re welcome for having you. And planning it.”
The edge of Eli’s mouth is turned up into a half smile, his eyes sparkling. Even in this dim light, I can see his amusement.
Dammit. Why is he so in tune with me?
It’s jarring. Unsettling, even, how alike we are.
Little by little our mouths move closer.
“Are we really doing this?” he ponders out loud. One would think he’s killing the mood, but it’s actually doing the opposite, causing the anticipation in my belly to grow.
Closer still.
“Should we?” I whisper. “There’s still time to change our minds.”
“I won’t back out if you won’t back out.”
“I’m no quitter,” I boast. “Are you a quitter?”
“Pfft, no.”
“Good. Cause our lips are so close together.”
“Very close together,” he whispers back. “I’m glad you smell so fresh.”
The tip of his nose touches mine.
“Why, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Nose to nose, I wait. He waits, hands encircling my waist, deliciously heavy and warm. Secure.
I tip my chin a fraction, the barest bit but still enough, so our mouths graze, sending a zing down my spine even though it’s just a fraction of contact.
Eli kisses me.
Presses his lips gently to mine, nothing but touching, bottom lip blessedly full, soft, warm.
Everything is warm.
His hands, my body, his mouth, my lips.
Everything.
Mouths linger; hands wander from my hips to my spine, to my shoulders. Cup my jawline, thumbs brushing my skin.
I raise my hands too, up over his torso, over his chest, settling on his shoulders.
Hands that are slightly shaking for reasons I cannot explain.
Then, our lips separate.
“Shit. I guess we do have physical chemistry,” he says at last, forehead pressing against mine.
“I guess we do.”
Do I sound breathless?
Eli pulls away, taking my hand along with him. “Hungry? We can head back and get comfortable and have dinner?”
“Starving, actually.” As usual.
“Yeah, I’m starving too.”
And I can’t decide if he’s talking about food, or if suddenly, he’s referring to something else entirely.
eighteen
eli
The more time I spend with Molly, the more I like her.
The more I like her, the more I develop a crush on her—something I haven’t had on a girl since I was probably eleven years old. Fifth grade, Ella Foster, who sat behind me in all of my classes. I remember it so well because Ella didn’t like me back, not even a little. She wouldn’t lend me a pencil when mine had snapped in half.
Still, I couldn’t stop crushing on Ella Foster. She was a sassy, sarcastic asshole even at eleven years old.
Molly is seated across from me at our catered dinner.
The table was laid out when we arrived back from our walk, steaming hot vegetables and chicken creating a delicious aroma and an unexpected delight.
“This has been so fun. The flight, the uncertainly, the cute little walk we just took,” my date says, looking all kinds of cute and comfortable in a YALE sweatshirt.
“I have a feeling anything we do would be fun,” I reply. I mean every word.
She pushes a carrot around her plate before stabbing it with her fork.
“You’re probably right. Everything we’ve done has been fun.” She pauses. “I will admit, I was even having a good time when that bitch dumped her wine on my dress.” Molly covers her mouth with her hand. “Oops, I didn’t mean to call her that—it slipped.”
“I figured tonight maybe we could sit and talk on the porch or play a board game?”
“Absolutely.”
There’s no television in this tree house, although I did bring my laptop if we want to watch a movie using the Wi-Fi. But now that we’re here, all I wanna do is sit and talk with her, drink wine, get a little drunk, and flirt.
It’s as if we’re having a slumber party even though I’ve never actually been to a slumber party.
“This food is delicious. I can’t believe how incredible this is. No wonder they filmed here for that reality TV show.”
“Haven’t seen it.”
“It’s this show about a group of singles who live in Charleston—they do outings every so often that are super bougie, like polo matches and wine tastings. They came to this farm and were inside this tree house for one episode. Reservations are impossible to get.” She takes a bite of more chicken before continuing. “How did you manage it?”
“I never reveal my sources, but my sources are usually Donna.”
“Donna. Clearly, I need a Donna in my life.”
“I’m sure if you got to know her, she’d help you out.”
“How was she with your ex?”
Not great.
Donna couldn’t stand Laura, and Laura couldn’t stand Donna. However, she used her whenever the opportunity presented itself, especially when she wanted tickets to a sold-out concert or reservations to a fully booked restaurant.
“Donna, please,” I always pleaded, fingers pressing into my temples to stop the headaches. “I’m sorry, can you just try to accommodate her? I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”