Series: Willow Winters
Total pages in book: 13
Estimated words: 11536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 58(@200wpm)___ 46(@250wpm)___ 38(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 11536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 58(@200wpm)___ 46(@250wpm)___ 38(@300wpm)
A few beers in at the bar with the guys and I finally told them I might be seeing someone. Might be. But I wouldn’t say who. All because of one thing she said as I was on my way out.
The door pushes open and I flick the light on, kicking off my boots and still feeling the buzz of both beer and Bree.
Her blush, her simper, the way her hand laid flat against my chest as she got up on her tiptoes to kiss me sweetly before scooting me out the door.
“Don’t tell anyone,” she whispered, those gorgeous light blue eyes peering up at me. That one little comment as I pulled open the front door has lingered all night.
From the time I left, to right freaking now. I don’t get why no one can know.
I’ve never been anyone’s secret and all night long at the bar, I had to restrain myself from asking my friends about her.
What she’s been doing … who she’s been doing.
Reaching in my back pocket I pull out my phone before it burns a hole there. She has my number and I have hers, and eight hours since leaving her house, she hasn’t texted me.
The Bree I used to know was sweet and smart, talkative with a contagious laugh. Everything feels right, but that one little statement is so far off from how I remember her.
Why should we be a secret? The thought nibbles at me from the back of my head as I make my way upstairs, kick open my bedroom door and undress. All the while staring at my phone and remembering the details of the day.
How her back arched and the way her nails dragged down my back.
Fuck. I’m hard again just thinking about her. Everything feels just like it did before—fucking puppy love.
Tossing my clothes on top of the pile of dirty laundry in the corner of the room, I note that the room still smells of fresh paint, even if it is just a plain white shade. Other than my dresser, the TV on top of it, and my king-size bed, there are only stacks of cardboard boxes in here. The blinds are the cheap plastic kind and they look like it, since three of the slats are bent.
There’s no way in hell I’m bringing Bree back here until I can fix it up. Or move out to a place of my own.
Running a hand down the back of my neck and then up over my head, all I can wonder is if I am seeing her, or if Bree just wanted to scratch an itch that’s been a long time coming.
The thought is unsettling. I’ve wanted her for as long as I can remember and I know we went on two separate paths in life, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m back home now and that if I could have what happened today happen every damn day for the rest of my life, I’d take it.
Hell, I’d do anything to have that fire between us, that tension and built-up need.
My phone buzzes and I huff a laugh as I read it: So who is she?
Derek won’t quit. At first he thought I was fucking around and I just didn’t want to hook up with the girls at the end of the bar. He bought them a round and I did my best to be his wingman, but it caught him off guard that my first week back I met someone.
I know I know her, don’t I? Derek texts and I joke back: It’s your mom.
Not funny, he answers and then I tell him: She wants to keep it on the downlow.
The bed groans as I climb in, pick up the remote and turn the TV on to whatever channel it was on last. I debate on confiding in him that it might have been a one-time thing. But there’s a possessive side of me that knows damn well that’s not going to happen.
I want her, she wants me … I just need to make it clear to her that what happened today is damn sure going to happen again, and again, and again.
My phone goes off and I casually pick it up, expecting Derek to give me shit, but it’s not Derek.
You didn’t text. As Aubrey’s text comes through, the name I plugged in for her brings a smile back: Bree Baby. Before I can text anything back she adds:
I thought today was wonderful btw. Especially what you did with your tongue.
Goddamn. I don’t remember you having such a dirty mouth, I text back, my dick hardening yet again. I palm it through the sheets and readjust only for her to reply: Ha! I knew that would get you to text me.
A rough chuckle leaves me and I message: In all honesty I was prepared to text back that I was just getting ready to message you. Been out all day.