Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“For what it’s worth,” I say, turning my head all the way towards him now with a grin. “I liked your crotch very much.”
His eyes narrow fractionally, his eyes dropping over me possessively, before he smiles. “I liked yours as well.”
I force myself to open the door so that I don’t do something stupid, like question why I feel so melancholy, or worse, act on it. Thomas pops the trunk and, ever the gentleman, braves the pouring rain to help me get my bags out.
I shrug on my coat and then take a bag in each hand. Before I can thank him for the ride, he steps forward, reaching out and lifting my hood to protect my face from the rain.
The pads of his thumbs brush over my cheeks, just briefly, enough that it could be an accident, though I don’t think it was.
I swallow. “You’re getting all wet.”
He swipes at the rain in his eyes but says nothing, and I feel frantic to fill the silence that feels meaningful, somehow.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say. Crap—have I already said that? And for . . . just, I guess, thanks,” I say, feeling as out of my element as I ever have. I don’t really do embarrassed, I don’t do flustered, and I’m not either of those things, not really, but I am . . .
Sad.
Damn it, I’m sad.
“You’re welcome.” Thomas reaches out and slams the trunk closed. “I guess I’ll . . . see you around? At the wedding?”
“Right. Yeah. Or before, if we bump into each other.”
“Unavoidable for us, right?” He smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “See you around, Mac.”
I nod. “See ya.”
He turns to go back to the driver’s side door, but my own feet don’t move.
“Thomas.”
He turns, and I can’t stop thinking about my conversation with Stephanie, at the possibility that I could be missing out if I don’t act on this strange, unfamiliar thing.
“The weekend isn’t over,” I say in a rush. “Not technically. If you want to . . . come up?”
What am I doing?! I don’t do this. I don’t extend things that shouldn’t be extended, I don’t complicate things that should remain simple . . .
And yet my heart is in my throat anyway, hoping . . .
His eyes flick behind me towards my building, then come back to me. “I’ve got to return the rental car. Otherwise I’ll get stuck paying for an extra day.”
“Right, of course,” I say, my voice a little too chipper in forced nonchalance, as I make a big deal of needlessly adjusting my grip on my bags, avoiding his eyes.
I’m relieved. I am. The ache in my chest is most definitely just embarrassment, or at least I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to convince myself of it eventually.
“But,” Thomas says, and my head snaps up. “I could come over after?”
The question is tentative, his voice both frustrated and almost shy, and I realize I’m not the only one utterly, totally flummoxed.
“You know—to see our friendship through the end of the weekend,” he adds.
“Right. Of course. Just until midnight, when we turn into pumpkins.”
He smiles. “That’s not how the fairy tale goes.”
I shrug. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never really read them, or seen the movie.”
Thomas walks towards me, pressing a finger beneath my chin and pushing it gently upwards before stamping a hard kiss on my mouth.
“What was that for?” I ask, a little breathless when he pulls back.
“Let’s just say I think I’m finally starting to figure you out.” He looks thoughtful, pressing his finger over my bottom lip, watching the motion.
“What does that mean?”
“I’ll let you know when I figure it out.” His eyes travel back up to mine and he grins. “I’ll be back here within an hour. If you don’t answer the door naked, there’s going to be hell to pay.”
I give him a saucy smile. “What if I have something better than naked? Something black and strappy . . .”
He groans and pulls me roughly towards him for another of those delicious, claiming kisses, then sets his forehead on mine. “I don’t have to return the rental car. I could risk a ticket . . . or a late fee . . . hell, to see that strappy thing, they can tow the damn thing.”
I laugh and push him away. “Go. But I’ll be waiting.”
Only after he gets back in the car do I realize how besotted my statement must have sounded.
And worse: how besotted I actually feel.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Monday, October 10
The adventures of the past few weeks notwithstanding, I actually don’t mind Monday mornings. I mean, I hate them the normal amount, in that they’re not Friday. But usually, I’m pretty happy to be getting back to work after the weekend.
This particular Monday though, I feel unexpectedly glum. Not because I forgot to do laundry and am wearing bikini bottoms, but because I’m hungover, and not because I’m running late, but because . . .