Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Needing to change the subject, I ask, “What’s your favorite meal?”
“I have no idea.” He laughs, looking at me, stretching his legs out now. “Why, are you going to cook it for me?” He nudges me sideways.
“Well, not right now, but I’m just curious,” I say, and he puts his arm around my shoulders and brings me closer to him. It’s done playfully, but it’s the first time he’s touched me. It’s the first time that he’s let me in without lashing out afterward, so I push him away, laughing.
“I would have to say anything Italian is my favorite,” he says, and his arm just hangs over my shoulders. “Probably chicken parm.”
“Really?” I say, and he just nods his head. We sit on the couch and watch the fire with his arm around my shoulder. Neither of us moves, and we just enjoy the quietness in the distance.
The beeping sound makes me open my eyes, and it takes me a second to remember where I am. I’m sleeping on my side in a fetal position, and the bed is heavenly. The thick white comforter is the perfect amount of weight. The beeping is still going, and I turn to the side, looking at the bedside clock, and see it’s 3:00 a.m.
The beeping continues, so I throw my covers over me and get up to follow the sound. Walking to Carter’s room, I knock on the open door and see that the covers are thrown back, and the bed is empty. I look at the door where his bathroom is and see that it’s also open. I walk to the bedside table and pick up his blaring phone. After pressing the snooze button, I leave his phone exactly where it was, then turn around and walk to the kitchen where I find him standing in the middle of it. The lights are dim, and he stands with his back to me. His gray sleep pants hang low on his hips. “Your alarm was going off,” I say, walking into the kitchen. When he turns around, his hair is all over the place, and his eyes are soft with sleep.
“Shit. I thought I turned it off,” he says, reaching his hands behind his neck, flexing his arms. “Sorry I woke you.”
“It’s okay. I set mine for three fifteen,” I tell him, going to sit on a stool. He starts opening the cupboard to grab two coffee cups.
“I don’t have vanilla,” he says, pouring the coffee and then turning around to place it in front of me. I watch him walk to the fridge and get the cream and milk. When we came in last night, we were happy to see that they stocked the fridge, and he cooked for me again, nothing fancy but it was still nice to watch him do it.
“I think I’ll survive,” I tell him, and he comes to sit on the stool next to me.
“I’m not sure if you eat breakfast, but I’m sure they will have some sort of craft service on set. If not, we can send someone to get you something to eat.”
“I can wait,” I tell him, getting up off the stool. “I have to get ready.” I grab my coffee and walk back to my room. I’m slipping on my black heels when there is a knock on the door. “Come in,” I say from my walk-in closet.
“The car is here,” he says, and I walk into the room to him. “What in the fuck are you wearing?” he asks me in a gruff tone.
I look down at what I’m wearing, seeing the high-waist gray pants with a sash at the waist. I paired it with a white long-sleeved silk shirt with a vee collar and the buttons stop halfway with the sleeves rolled at the wrist. “Is it not dressy enough?” I ask, not sure if I have time to change.
“We are going on a film set that is dusty and most likely dirty,” he says with aggravation. “You are like a walking wet dream wearing that getup,” he mumbles, and I don’t know whether to be happy with the comment or not. “Don’t forget a jacket. It’s cold outside,” he says, turning and walking out of the room. I run back to the closet and grab my brown cashmere jacket, then pick up my Louis and walk to the front door. “You look like you are one of those girls from the porn movies. Not that I would know about that or anything.”
“What the hell is your problem?” I ask, irritated. “I’m not used to a film set, so how the heck should I know how to dress? I’m also still working, so why should I be dressed casually?”
“Whatever,” he says, and he walks away.
“Fuck you, too,” I say to myself and walk out of the house, closing the door behind me. He waits at the car with the back door open for me to get in.