Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
So, yeah, Steph’s happiness was hypnotic.
The quiet lilt of her voice as she spoke to her friend still washed over me as I moved away, even if it was impossible to make out the words.
It let me focus more on her apartment.
That made me acutely aware of just how bare my own was. While it wasn’t a huge space, and the original cabinets, floors, and white walls could have easily felt lifeless and uninteresting, Stephanie refused to allow that to happen.
She breathed her personality and interests into every inch of this place.
The walls featured random art. Her kitchen counters were scattered with cooking utensils, flour and sugar canisters, a crock full of brightly colored utensils, pictures of nights out with her friends pinned to the fridge with magnets made of clay in the shapes of anthropomorphized fruits and vegetables.
I went through her cabinets to find a glass, coming across her mug collection instead. There were two shelves full. One featured her Christmas collection—mismatched Santa prints, reindeer, elves, you name it. The other was her everyday collection, which was equally varied.
I found a glass, the pitcher of water in the fridge, and a packet of electrolytes.
“Uh-oh,” Sammy said as I made my way back, her body stiffening at something she heard. It took me a second, but the echoes of retching drifted down the hallway.
“Go on. I’m just gonna make sure she drinks this, then I’ll head out. You can check back every two minutes if you wanna.”
Sammy looked conflicted, but eventually had no choice but to rush out when a smush-faced dog went rushing past Steph’s open door.
“Shit. Meatball!” she called, running out into the hall.
“I love Meatball,” Steph said, eyes going round, almost a little sad.
“Yeah? Why don’t you get one?”
“Work. Charity.”
“You work from home,” I reminded her.
“Maybe after Christmas. Is that for me?” she asked, pressing her hand to her heart as I offered her the glass of water. She was looking at it like it was five dozen long-stemmed roses.
“Yep. You gotta drink it all.”
She sniffed it, her nose wrinkling.
“That’s not a margarita.”
“No, but it might help you prevent a hangover from those margaritas. Beside, it’s a mocktail flavor. Cranberry cosmo or some shit like that.”
“I like how you talk,” she said, taking a sip. “Some shit like that,” she parroted, dropping her voice low. “I can’t do the gravel.”
“The gravel?”
“There’s gravel in your voice. I like it. It’s hot.”
These were not things a sober Stephanie would want to say to me. I felt guilty hearing (and enjoying) them.
“I got him!” Sammy said, making me turn to find her standing in the doorway with a wriggling, unhappy dog. “I’m going to check on Andy, then take him to pee. I’ll check on you right after.”
I didn’t bother to tell her that Stephanie was safe with me. Overprotective friends were a good thing for a woman to have. I wasn’t going to insist Sammy let down her guard.
Especially not with dicks like Craig sniffing around Steph.
“I’m not gonna head out until you’re gone. I’ll keep an ear for your woman, too. Just in case she needs something.”
“Okay. Thanks,” Sammy said, but I was aware of her checking the doorknob on her way back out, making sure it was locked. “Five minutes!” she called, rushing down the hallway.
“She’s the MVP tonight, huh?”
“Sammy doesn’t like getting drunk,” Stephanie told me. She paused, swallowing the last of her water and handing the cup to me. Sideways. The dregs spilled down onto my thigh. And Stephanie? She panicked and tried to wipe it away with her fingers.
“Babe, gonna need you to stop that.” The drops were too damn high on my leg. And my cock was getting ideas.
“I ruined your pants!” she whimpered.
Her gaze cut up to mine, all round eyes and a pouting lower lip that I really wanted to taste again.
“They’re fine,” I assured her, removing her hand myself.
“Why wouldn’t you let me take my pants off?” she asked.
“I believe that was Sammy.” Though, yeah, I’d have tried to stop her too.
“I dreamed of it, you know,” she said, letting out a big yawn and leaning her head on my arm.
“Dreamed of what?” I really needed not to ask questions like that.
“You. Me. Pants off.”
Fuck.
I needed to change topics fast.
“Babe, you’re really drunk.”
“I wasn’t. When I was having those dreams,” she clarified.
“But you are now. And I know sober you wouldn’t want you to be saying this.”
She let out a sound that almost resembled a snore, then suddenly stretched across me.
I threw up my hands, not trusting myself not to reach for her as she did… whatever she was doing on the end table beside me.
It was right then that Sammy decided to reappear in the doorway. She seemed pleased by my gesture as Steph finally located what she was searching for—the remote—and dropped back down to her seat.