Total pages in book: 181
Estimated words: 177690 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 888(@200wpm)___ 711(@250wpm)___ 592(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177690 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 888(@200wpm)___ 711(@250wpm)___ 592(@300wpm)
“Now you’re being stupid. Why would I be avoiding you?” I ask, completely—totally—avoiding his eyes, as I answer.
“I’m not sure Moth-girl. Why don’t you tell me?” he asks.
“You haven’t changed,” I sigh, stepping around him to go to the counter. “I’ll have an iced coffee with a white chocolate drizzle and a shot of cherry please. Oh, and a blueberry muffin.”
“You do have a sweet tooth, don’t you?” he asks.
I shrug. “Have you ordered?” I ask.
“Nope, I’ve already had my coffee this morning, that’s not why I’m here. Why do you ask?”
“Well, you were coming out of a place famous for coffee.”
“True, but I was only here to find you.”
“Um, sure. Whatever you say,” I laugh, paying the lady as she hands me my order.
“I’m serious,” he argues and I seem to be helpless to prevent myself from looking up at him. It’s unfortunate I choose the moment I take a sip of my drink. In that small space in time, I have no idea which hits me harder. It could be the decadent taste of my coffee and the fresh kick of cherry, or the deep mesmerizing look in his blue eyes that causes butterflies to surge to life in my stomach.
“Why were you looking for me?” I ask, doing my best to pull my gaze from his beautiful eyes that shine like a sunny California day—well minus the hazy fog of the city.
“Did you miss the portion of the conversation where I told you that I keep missing you and how I think you’re avoiding me?” he asks earnestly.
I give him a half-smile, walking to the back of the small store. There’s a sectional in the back, made of leather, and shaped like a half circle. I’m always excited when I find it empty on a Friday morning. The director has been closing productions on Friday. That will change soon, but for now it’s yet another reason to love my job. Three day weekends!
I’ve made a habit of sipping my coffee and enjoying my breakfast muffin or croissant—whatever I order that particular day—and reading the latest magazine I’ve picked up, or a book. It usually relaxes me. Today is different and I don’t feel relaxed as Gavin follows me and sits down beside me. Today I’m not relaxed, I’m on edge and the reason has to do with the blonde haired, blue-eyed, stuntman across from me.
“Nothing to say for yourself?” he asks, draping his arm over the back of the sofa and curving into me, while reminding me of our conversation.
I take a sip of my drink, putting the container with the roll inside down beside me. I take a minute to enjoy being this close to Gavin. I’m not exactly a small girl. Still, I rock my size fourteen curves. Gavin however, manages to make me feel tiny.
Small. Feminine. Perfect.
That’s a dangerous feeling for me—especially with Gavin. He was my kryptonite in high school. I had Superman-type restraint when it came to other boys, but not with Gavin. That one night on the football field was the highlight of my entire adolescence and the crowning memory of my teenage years. Apparently he has the same effect over the adult me, as he did back then.
This is bad. Very bad. Because now I’ve caught his attention. Attention that makes me feel alive and attention…I like.
“I don’t really know what you’re talking about, so I guess not,” I tell him innocently. Truthfully, I’ve not been hiding from him. That much. Our hours on the set are different and he’s apparently part of the stunt crew, which means special effects does his makeup—not me. Which is good, I wasn’t sad at all when I found that out. Really, I wasn’t.
“Whatever. You suck at playing innocent Moth-girl.”
“I have a name you know,” I tell him, taking another drink.
“I know. Trust me. I’ve been calling it out as I jack myself off at night,” he answers like he’s talking about the weather.
I choke mid drink. I cover my mouth, my eyes watering as I try to un-strangle myself. Gavin pulls me into him, his hand going to my back where he gently taps it. I pull away—sadly—and cough a few more times, before I look up at him, tears still sliding from my eyes.
“You did not just say that!”
“Too much honesty for our first date?”
“Our first…I don’t remember you being insane in high school,” I sigh, opening up my blueberry muffin. Gavin immediately takes it out of my hands. “Hey! What are you doing?”
“I decided to taste it first. I wanted to make sure it was safe for you to eat.”
“Safe for me?”
“Yeah. Don’t you read those romance novels? People are always poisoning food and things. I only want to make sure you’re protected,” he grins and then bites into my muffin.
“I think I hate you,” I mournfully sigh, watching as he takes the muffin away from his mouth, now with one large gaping hole off the top of it. “And this is definitely not our first date.”