Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
“You’re…going to take a shower? Like, now?”
“There’s still water in the tank, right?”
“Plenty.” He nods through a slight cough. “I…uh…just filled it this afternoon.”
“Great,” I say, trying not to sound too excited. Only weirdos do backflips about taking a shower in a motor home. Well, weirdos and pervs like me, I suppose.
We sit there staring at each other like a couple of confused middle schoolers before Chase finally bounces on his heels, breaking the game. “Alrighty, then,” he says with an overzealous hook of his thumb over his left shoulder. “I’m going to head out. You…uh…enjoy your shower. Yeah, enjoy your shower.” He nods so many times I lose count. “And I’m gonna go on that walk, then. Shouldn’t be super long unless I get lost or eaten by a bear or something.”
I’ve never ever seen a bear in downtown Hometown, Ohio, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to mention it. Chase Dawson is perfect, remember? If he says there are bears, maybe there are bears.
“Don’t run,” I say quickly, making his forehead wrinkle and me rush to explain. “If you see a bear, I mean. They say running is the fastest way to get yourself eaten unless you’re with someone and they run slower than you do.”
His mouth forms this sexy but curious little curve. “Is that really what they say?”
Why do even his facial expressions have to be so hot? I mean, really? This is getting stupid.
“The part about running definitely,” I eventually add. “But I don’t think everyone throws their companion under the bus like me.”
“The bus or the motor home? Just trying to be ready, you know?” he quips, and the smirk on his face puts me closer to the horny edge.
My vagina tingles. My mouth laughs. And a part of me hates how sexy and appealing this man is in all moments of daily life. “Don’t worry,” I manage to banter back, despite the ever-present ache between my legs. “I can’t even start this thing, let alone run you over.”
“Good news,” he replies, his smile stretching so far into his eyes, it practically takes them over. Just a giant walking mouth, that’s Chase Dawson when he smiles like that.
“I guess, I’ll…uh…see you after the walk, then,” I offer, making him laugh. He knocks on the thin wooden wall beside the door and nods.
“Right. See you after the walk. And uh…enjoy the…uh…shower.”
“I will.” Dear God, I will. I really, really will.
I listen hard as Chase exits the motor home and the door closes behind him with a soft click, followed by a hard bang. After a thorough post-traumatic-squirrel evaluation, we learned the hard way that if you don’t give the thing a hip check after you latch it, it doesn’t really latch. Honestly, I’m going to be dreaming about a squirrel mauling my face on the night before every appearance at this point, but hearing the simple sound of Chase booty-bumping the door to ensure the wildlife stays out during my shower makes my face melt into a smile.
Yeah, he really is the perfect object of desire.
Sigh.
Shoving off the bed, I tiptoe into the living room area and take one last peek out the window and watch his strong back as he heads down the sidewalk leading away from our parking spot on the town square. Bill’s Flowers and Gifts is quiet to his left, save the twinkle light display in the window, and Pan City, the busiest restaurant in town on most nights until it closes at eight p.m., is dark on the right. There are a million beautiful memories from my childhood here, but none of them are quite as pretty as this—Chase’s dark hair, veiny arms, and full butt as he puts one foot in front of the other in the middle of it all.
He moves with such confidence and certainty—qualities I don’t think I’ve ever carried on my tall, lanky frame. I was born awkward, squawking into the delivery room with sounds my mother tells me resembled her childhood pet rooster, Eduardo.
Thanks for that, by the way, Mom.
Un-scissoring my fingers from between the blinds, I let them settle back into place and strip my clothes speedily on the way back to the bedroom. If I’m going to have time to wash and “wax”—if you know what I mean—I need to get moving and pronto.
Goose bumps spread across every exposed surface of my body.
Somehow, the air of the motor home on my naked skin feels completely different from the air in my own home—almost like it knows another person resides in the space. I don’t know how to explain it other than it feels like Chase’s ghost is lurking somewhere and will somehow see me in all my bareness.
Having forgotten my phone up in the front, I run up there to get it without putting anything on and feel like a criminal as I do. On the way back, I spot the manuscript of my book on the table of the dining booth and pause.