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)
I never knew I had this kind of stamina until I met Ava Bartlett. I barely need any time at all to recover when we’re together.
I wonder if your dick really can fall off from fucking too much. Guess I’m about to find out.
Rolling her eyes, Ava finally sits. “But I’m helping you clean up.”
“No you’re not,” I call over my shoulder as I head for the truck.
Patsy let me borrow a big wicker picnic basket, which I grab from my truck along with the reusable wine carrier Wyatt filled with several bottles that, his words, “are so good that they’ll definitely get you laid.”
He waved me away when I told him I didn’t need help in that department. “No pressure, but Ava’s a gem. Don’t fuck this up.”
Gotta love my brother for telling it like it is. He’s changed so damn much in the past few months, and it’s for the better.
I set everything down on the blanket. Then I run back to the car and grab my rifle from underneath the seat. Ava eyes it as I return to the fireside.
“Just in case,” I explain, double-checking that the safety is on before setting it down beside me. “We spotted a bear earlier this week. But it was about ten miles east of here, so it shouldn’t be anything to worry about.”
Ava’s eyes glimmer, reflecting the light of the growing fire. “That’s not terrifying at all.”
“I’m a good shot.” I pluck a corkscrew from the wine bag. “You wanna start with white or red?”
“Oooh, red, please.”
I open the bottle Wyatt told me to start with. Apparently you always drink the best wine first, because you remember it the most. A couple of glasses in, you might not care as much.
Or, in my case, you might be naked with your date by that point, so really, who gives a fuck what bottle you’re on?
Hold your horses, you horny bastard.
I’m wildly attracted to Ava. No question about that. Of course I want to fuck her tonight, preferably multiple times.
More than that, though, I want to get to know her. Learn her. Who she is, where she’s from, what her story is. Why she felt the need to bury her true self. The time we have together tonight—alone—is precious. As much as I wanna put my head between her thighs and stay there, we should talk.
I want to talk. Mostly because Ava makes me laugh. She also makes me feel like I can do no wrong. Conversation with her is effortless. Fun.
She also keeps it real.
So I pour us some wine and we cheers to the miracle of making it out on a date together, how many months after we first met.
Then I unpack the picnic basket.
“Sorry about the paper plates.” I set a pair out on the blanket. “Mollie was horrified, but I thought her grandmother’s china was a little much for our first date.”
Stretching out so that her legs are straight and she’s supporting her weight on one arm, Ava scoffs and rolls her eyes. “That’s it. I’m outta here. Paper plates? Really, Sawyer, what kind of girl do you think I am?”
“Hopefully the kind who likes fried chicken.” I lift the container out of the basket. “It’s my first try making it, so be kind.”
Ava blinks. “You made it?”
“From scratch. It’s Sally’s mom’s recipe. Patsy did give me a major assist. Ella did too. We also made this cheesy jalapeño corn bread that’s out of this world if I do say so myself.”
Ava’s smiling as she sips her wine. “What’s the secret?”
“Patsy jazzes up plain old Jiffy Corn Muffin Mix. You know the kind in the—”
“Blue box?” Ava nods. “My mom uses the same thing.”
“Patsy adds eggs, sour cream, and a shit ton of butter and cheese. She swears freshly grated is best.”
Ava sits up, cupping her hand underneath the spatula I use to scoop a square of corn bread onto her plate. “You really went all out.”
“Mollie helped me mastermind everything. Please tell me you’re impressed.”
Leaning in, she kisses the underside of my jaw. “So impressed. Thank you. I feel very special and very hungry.”
I pile our plates with chicken drumsticks, thick slices of corn bread, and the bean and green onion salad I threw together earlier today.
Ava bites into the chicken and moans. “Sawyer.”
“That’s the porniest sound I think I’ve ever heard.”
“That’s because this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. Like, seriously. Wow.”
I tear into a piece myself. The coating is crunchy, just the right amount of flavor and salt, and the meat is perfectly cooked.
“That is good,” I say, taking another bite.
Ava sits cross-legged as she drinks her wine and cleans her plate. When I give her another plate, this one filled with a nice slab of brownie that I frosted with buttercream and drizzled with semisweet chocolate, she literally whimpers with delight.