Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“You never met your ex’s parents?” He latches onto that, and I shake my head.
“No.” I roll toward him and rest the back of my hand under my chin. “Cohen’s dad wasn’t in his life, and his mom passed away from cancer before we met.” I watch his eyes follow his fingers as he tucks a chunk of my hair behind my ear. “Have you met any of your girlfriends’ parents before?”
“When I was sixteen, I met the girl I dated in high school’s parents once.” His grin turns devilish. “And that’s only because they didn’t trust me with their daughter.”
“I bet they didn’t.” I grin back, imagining that not much changed between then and the time I met him when he was eighteen.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t have been the kind of kid I’d want my daughter to date.” He chuckles, then his expression gentles. “My mom is anxious to meet you.”
“Is she?” I tip my head to the side, trying to understand the look in his eyes. “Why?”
“Because I’ve never brought any woman I’ve dated around my family, and you won over Melanie, which Mom knows isn’t easy to do.”
“I think that had more to do with tequila than my winning personality.” I smile, and he shakes his head.
“With anyone else, I would say you’re right, but Melanie doesn’t like many people. She’s like my dad in that way. Their guard is always up until you prove you’re worthy of their trust.”
“I don’t think I did anything to prove I’m worthy of your sister’s trust.”
“It’s not anything you did. It’s just you being you.” He rolls toward me, forcing me to my back. “How about a shower and some breakfast?”
“Both those things sound good to me.” My belly dips as his mouth gets closer to mine, then I cringe when I hear what sounds like something made of glass breaking downstairs. “Binx,” I groan, knowing it’s him up to no good.
“That cat is a menace.”
“I know. He’s lucky he’s so cute.” I press against his chest in a silent demand for him to get up off me. “I’ll go see what he broke this time.”
“No.” He kisses me swiftly. “I’ll go check on him and clean up whatever that was while you start the shower.”
“I can help.” I watch his arm muscles bunch and flex as he pushes away from me, and in one smooth move, he gets off the bed and grabs a pair of shorts. I move to get up, feeling him and me between my legs, and my nose scrunches. “I just need to clean myself up a bit.” He gives me a look that states clearly he’s pleased with himself for my current state, then comes back to the bed, looming over me.
“Just start the shower. I’ll be back.” He presses his lips against mine, and by the time my lashes flutter back open, he’s gone.
With a whole lot less finesse, I get out of bed and go to the bathroom to start the shower, but as the room steams up and time goes on, I wonder what is taking him so long. I slip one of his T-shirts over my head and head downstairs.
It takes me a minute to find him, and when I finally do, I shake my head. Binx somehow knocked one of the planters that was in the window off the ledge in the living room. Then deciding he didn’t create enough damage, he added to it, spreading dirt and pieces of the plant from one side of the room to the other—across the gray, almost-white tile floor.
“Don’t come in here without shoes,” Maxim orders, sensing me before he even looks over his shoulder to where I’m standing at the edge of the living room.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” he asks, placing the largest pieces of a black ceramic vase into a cardboard box.
“For my cat’s desire to destroy everything in your house.” I look around for the terrorist and find him sitting on the arm of the sofa, watching Maxim clean up the mess he made, his tail swishing from side to side. “I’ll buy you a new vase and plant and replace the chair he clawed up… and your shoes he chewed.”
“Babe.” That one word is filled with annoyance and what sounds like frustration. Probably because we’ve had this same conversation about a dozen times already, and he’s continued to tell me it’s not necessary.
Not wanting to argue with him, I go in search of the flip-flops I brought with me, figuring I will find a way to pay him back for all the damage that has been done without him knowing. Most likely in the form of a seriously nice housewarming gift after he closes on his place in Nashville. After tracking down my flip-flops next to the back door in the kitchen, I slip them on, then grab the broom and dustpan from the pantry and carry both with me back to the living room. As soon as I start across the tile floor, his eyes drop to my feet, and I barely avoid rolling my eyes at the grunting noise he makes.