Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Uncross them.
Look for back pockets that I don’t have with these lounge pants.
Finally, I manage to shove my hands into the pockets of my hoodie.
“You, uh what?” He cocks his head to the side.
Ozzy has abs. I don’t know why I expected a dad bod beneath his shirt, but I did. He also has tool tattoos below his right ribs.
“I wanted to see you,” I murmur.
He nods slowly, wetting his lips. “It’s nice to be seen.”
I wet my lips. “I underestimated things.”
“Oh?”
Again, I make a slow inspection of his bare chest. “Yeah. I, uh, didn’t know you had all of this.”
“All of what?”
I nod toward him. “Muscles and tattoos.” I clear my throat, meeting his gaze. “I would have worn something sexier.”
He chuckles. “Maren, you don’t have to try to be sexy. You just are.” He steps past me and locks his bedroom door.
My heart takes off, rattling my nerves.
“So, how was your day?” I step toward his black desk in the corner. Beside his laptop, there’s a silver-framed picture of Lola and a blond woman I assume is Brynn.
“Today hasn’t been the best day, but now that you’ve crawled through my window, I believe the anguish was worth it.” He rests his hands on my hips and kisses my neck.
I turn toward him because I can’t let him touch me with his wife watching. I think every woman should set that minimum standard, whether said wife is dead or alive.
“Sounds cryptic,” I whisper.
He slides my unzipped hoodie off my shoulders until it releases from my arms and falls to the floor.
“Parenting is challenging.” His fingers weave into my hair, and an ambush of nerves tingles my skin.
I visibly shiver.
Ozzy’s dark eyes narrow. “Cold?”
“Nervous,” I whisper with an equally shaky laugh.
“I’ve touched you before.” His mischievous expression doesn’t help my situation.
“I was high on adrenaline.”
“Then let’s wait for your nerves to trigger a little adrenaline.” He takes a step backward and sits on the edge of his bed.
My gaze flits to the television. He’s watching something with Jason Statham.
“Take off your clothes,” he says.
My attention jerks back to him. He rests his hands behind him.
My god, he’s sexy.
“Wh-what?” I shift my weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to do with my hands.
“Strip for me.”
My nervous laugh returns, and I decide it’s best to watch Jason Statham instead of Ozzy. “For the record”—I risk a glance at Ozzy, and he wets his lips just to torture me a little more—“I’m not usually this nervous. But your ex-in-laws are upstairs, and I assume your daughter is not far from this room. And I’m afraid I might be too . . .” I twist my lips, rethinking the wisdom of confessing my fear.
This was a terrible idea. Grown-ass adults don’t sneak around like this. I meet a guy at a bar, and we do it at his place. No sneaking. No awkward moments like this.
“Too what?” Ozzy prods.
“Are they sound sleepers?” I chew the corner of my lower lip.
“Who?”
“Everyone else in the house.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “Are you a screamer, Maren?”
I don’t know what I am other than every shade of red imaginable, pitting out profusely.
“I’ll stop before you scream.”
I cough a laugh, refocusing on him. “That sounds like an excuse not to”—I shake my head several times—“satisfy me.” The words come out like a croak as my bravery disintegrates.
“Well, it is my turn.” Ozzy’s head angles to the side while he sizes me up like prey.
I cross my arms over my chest, but it feels unnatural. I thought it would feel more confident, but Ozzy has claimed all the confidence in this room tonight, and I’m grasping for something short of a puddle at his feet. “You have other responsibilities. I shouldn’t be here.”
He chuckles, which flexes his abs even tighter. “Now you sound like Brynn’s mom.”
“How so?”
“I’m pretty sure she thinks I don’t deserve any pleasure.”
“Why?”
His expression falls off his face, replaced with regret, while he averts his gaze. “It’s a long story.”
“I have time.”
Ozzy eyes me. “You specifically said booty call.”
“My booty can wait.”
“I really need you to take off your clothes.” Tension fills his brow.
I only make him wait a few seconds before removing my shirt and tossing it aside, along with my nerves. Realization smacks me upside the head. It’s his confidence. I need the upper hand. I’m a competitor. Confident Ozzy makes me weak in the knees and jittery as hell, but somber Ozzy makes me want to give him pleasure.
I discard my shoes and pants, standing idle momentarily while his gaze roves along my body. It stops at my breasts when I reach behind me to unhook my bra.
I pause for a second to feel the high.
My adrenaline surges, feeding off the fact that he’s waiting for me to show him the parts of my body that he’s touched but never seen. And suddenly, I don’t want to strip anymore. I want to be a poster he pins to his ceiling.