Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 61705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Me: It’s Abby. Palmer House Abby.
Luca: Hey Abby, how’s it going?
Me: Pretty good. I’m going to be in Chicago for a week starting tomorrow. Want to get together?
Luca: Depends when. My schedule’s tight.
I bristle at his implied brush off. I’ve used the old “tight schedule” line many times myself. For a minute, I try to think of a response, but I end up deciding to just ignore him.
Within five minutes, though, he messages again.
Luca: I really do have a tight schedule. Two road trips in the next week. I like you, and I’d love to see you again if we can make something work.
I soften, my shoulders slumping with relief.
Me: I’ll be done working by 7 p.m. every night. I can make any night that works for you work for me.
Luca: Okay, how about Thursday night? I won’t be able to stay the night though.
Me: Who says I want you to?
Luca: Playing coy now? You can kick me out when you’re sick of having great orgasms, how about that?
I smile at the screen.
Me: Deal.
Luca: I’m glad you messaged. Been thinking about you.
Me: Same. See you Thursday. Palmer House lobby.
Luca: See you then. Wear something sexy for me.
My grin widens. What is it about this guy? His boy-next-door charm and secret dirty side turn me on like nothing else. He’s worth breaking my one-night stand rule for.
One more night. A few more hours of feeling crazy good. And then, I’ll delete his number.
Chapter Ten
Luca
Damned if Abby doesn’t look even prettier the second time I see her. I noticed her sitting at the Palmer House bar from across the lobby as soon as I walked in. Her long, wavy hair is loose around her shoulders and she looks casual in dark jeans and a black V-neck shirt. Legs crossed, she’s immersed in reading something on her phone, wearing dark-rimmed reading glasses.
“Hey, gorgeous,” I say as I approach her at the bar.
When I lean down to kiss her cheek, she turns and gives me a quick, sweet kiss on the lips instead. My cock twitches with approval. I’m so turned on by Abby’s quiet confidence.
“I like your glasses,” I say in a low tone.
She leans in and responds in a tone only I can hear. “I like your cock.”
Oh, hell. I’ve got a full erection now. I put my palm low on her back and whisper in her ear, “You gonna let me eat dinner before we fuck?”
“If it’s eating you want…”
I close my eyes and let out a breath. “Damn, Abby. I want it all. Get that sexy ass upstairs.”
She gives me a coy smile. “Down, boy. Don’t you think we should have dinner first?”
I laugh low in her ear, making sure she feels the warmth of my breath on her neck. “You’d better eat fast.”
I slide onto the barstool next to hers and we make small talk over drinks—red wine for her and Guinness for me. She tells me she’s back and forth between Chicago and New York often for her sales job. Perfect. I’d love for this to become a regular thing.
Even though I don’t want a relationship, I don’t think I can survive without semi-regular sex. I’ve been having sex since I was sixteen, and I can’t just abstain until the kids are grown. Road trip hookups have been getting me by for the past year, but they don’t compare to Abby.
“So I admit to not knowing much about hockey,” she says. “Put the puck in the net, right?”
“Yep, that’s about it. I’m a forward, so I work offense.”
“Ever lose any teeth?”
“Just the one my brother chipped when we were kids. Fucker hit me smack in the face with a hockey stick.”
“Have you always loved hockey?”
I nod. “I was hooked from the time I could hold a stick. Played a lot of street hockey growing up.”
“And where was that?”
I arch my brows. “That’s a pretty personal question, Abby. I thought you only wanted sex from me.”
Her cheeks turn a sexy shade of pink. “Right, sorry.”
I grin. “I’m kidding. I grew up in Des Moines.”
“Really?”
“Yep. You?”
She hesitates before answering. “I grew up in the Phoenix area.”
“And what’s your last name?”
Another hesitation.
“I’m not looking to stalk you or anything,” I say. “Promise. I just want to know who I’m fantasizing about on all those lonely nights in my hotel room.”
She smiles. “Barrett.”
We order food and the small talk continues. Abby and I discuss TV shows (neither of us watch much), a little politics (neither of us care much), and even the weather.
I’m intrigued by how different Abby is from other women. I’ve met plenty of women who said they didn’t want anything serious, but I guess their definition of serious was different than mine. They still dropped hints about the future, expected me to be exclusive with them whether we’d discussed it or not, and got jealous if other women so much as looked at me.