Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 110113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
He’d smother my spirit. And that’s something I refuse to tolerate.
I am done being someone’s long-suffering significant other. I promised myself I’d do better, if only to show Junie what her standards should be when it comes to relationships. I don’t want her to think it’s normal that men treat women the way I’ve been treated.
But God, Sawyer is pretty. And kind. And excellent in bed.
Which is exactly why I need to get out of his bed, stat. Even though going back to reality just might kill me. My parents help me out a lot with Junie, but overnight breaks like this one are few and far between. I relish them, even if a break does make for a brutal return to real life.
Careful not to wake Sawyer, I slip out from underneath the covers. I’m naked, and the air hits my skin in a cold, bracing rush. Teeth chattering, I dig through the mess on the floor for my clothes. I find my jeans, socks, and boots. But my underwear is MIA, and so is my shirt.
I don’t find the undies, but I do find the shirt hanging in the bathroom. The breath leaves my lungs when I see that the stain on the front is completely gone. When I smell the fabric, there’s no hint of stale beer. Did Sawyer get up and clean it at some point last night?
Why does that thought make me want to cry? This man is endlessly endearing. Everything he does makes me like him more. It makes me want to let my guard down, what-ifs swirling in my head.
What if he’s different?
What if the adoration he showed my wild side means he values authenticity as much as I do?
I cut off that line of thought at the pass. I gave Dan a chance. Many chances. I thought he might be different too, and look how that turned out.
Yanking the shirt over my head, I grab my purse and jacket and tiptoe to the door, where I put on my boots. My heart leaps to my throat when I hear rustling behind me. I quickly push down the knob and open the door.
I’m walking out of the suite when I notice a table, draped in white linen, that waits in the hallway. The smell of coffee fills my head as I take in the spread. There’s a silver coffeepot, a tiny pitcher of creamer, a Saran-wrapped bowl of cut fruit. A pair of stacked cardboard coffee cups sit beside two ceramic ones.
Holy shit, did Sawyer order room service for us?
“Wasn’t sure if you’d want your coffee for here or to go.”
I whip around at the sound of the deliciously deep, sleepy voice behind me. Sawyer is standing in the doorway, one arm held up over his head, his elbow resting on the doorframe. His thick hair sticks up every which way. My fingers twitch with the desire to run them through that dark, wavy mass.
The only thing he’s wearing is a sheet around his waist, which he holds in a fist placed distractingly close to the chiseled V of his groin.
My knees literally wobble. I rest a hand on the table to steady myself.
“I … hi. Hey. Good morning, Sawyer. I’m so sorry, but I think I need to head out.” The excuse, or really the lack thereof, is pathetic, but I still tilt my head toward the empty hallway.
His blue eyes darken with disappointment. “Why you runnin’, pretty girl?”
My heart is in my mouth now. I love the nickname he gave me. I also love the way his voice sounds right now, still rough with sleep, edged with obvious desire.
He wouldn’t want more if he didn’t enjoy how unhinged I was last night. How unladylike. He likes who I was—am—the crazy exhibitionist who loves cigarettes and doggy style a little too much.
Only it wasn’t too much for Sawyer. It was just right.
Which makes me feel just right, just as I am.
I have to go, or I’m worried I’ll stay forever.
I glance at the table. “Did you—”
“Call room service at three a.m. to request breakfast be delivered at six?” The muscles in his chest bunch as he straightens, dropping his raised arm so he can run his hand over his naked stomach. “I don’t know about you, but I worked up an appetite last night. Didn’t want you goin’ hungry.”
Like his voice, his accent is different in the morning. It’s thicker, slower, dripping with honey. I nonsensically blame that fact for the renewed sting in my eyes.
Sawyer fucked me all night, and now he wants to feed me this morning? It’s supposed to be the other way around, right? He buys me dinner first, and then we get naked?
Who am I kidding, one-night stands don’t usually include food. Especially breakfast. Sawyer really wants me to stay, doesn’t he?