Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
But she was gorgeous, perfect with all her imperfections, and despite her amazing breasts and squeeze-worthy ass, that wasn’t the reason why I had kissed her. When I was close to her, silences didn’t feel like missed opportunities to leave my mark; they weren’t loaded or awkward. We could sit beside each other in comfortable silence, content in each other’s company, and moreover, content being ourselves. Fuck, I sounded like a fucking psychological love horoscope.
I dragged myself over to my room, reliving the kiss. Of course, my cock sprang to attention as I remembered Evie’s taste, her scent, the breathy moan she’d released, the way her breasts had brushed my arm. I couldn’t remember the last time a make-out session had left me this desperate for more, along with the crushing realization that there would never be, could never be.
Evie had kissed me like she meant it, like she too wanted to take things further, but she had stiffened, a fucking wake-up call if I ever needed one. I couldn’t sleep with Evie. I didn’t want to lose her, and sex would make that outcome inevitable.
Things remained awkward between Evie and me the next morning and of course my family picked up on it, exchanging questioning looks, and whispering behind our backs when they thought Evie and I weren’t paying attention.
To my surprise, neither my mother nor Marc or Milena interrogated me about it, but shortly before it was time to leave, Willow used our goodbye to speak her mind. I crouched in front of her, my hands cradling hers as she regarded me with a soft smile. “I really like Evie. She’s funny, and nice.”
“She is,” I agreed, chancing a glance at the rest of my family, who were hugging Evie as if she were the long-lost daughter they couldn’t bear leaving.
“Will you bring her over again?”
I sighed, pressed a kiss to Willow’s palm and straightened. “I don’t know.”
“I wish you were dating her.”
“I don’t date, Willow, and what’s more important, I don’t discuss my love life with my little sister.” I bent down and kissed her forehead to soften my words. Willow clung to my arms, forcing me to meet her eyes. “I’m not a little girl anymore. Being stuck in a wheelchair doesn’t mean I don’t see things. And I see how you’re looking at her, and how she’s looking at you.”
Willow had a point. I often ignored the fact that she’d soon be a grown-up but she was wrong about everything else. Whatever she saw, it was born of wishful thinking on her part. At least, that’s what I told myself as I hugged my sister goodbye.
I have a feeling that you might be the one to crack through his shell.
I’d occasionally entertained the idea that maybe Georgia’s words could be true, that the kiss meant something, that there could be more between Xavier and me.
That proved what kind of idiot I was.
One day after our return, I entered Xavier’s apartment only to hear a woman screaming her head off in obvious ecstasy.
That was the answer I wanted and the wake-up call I needed. The kiss we’d shared had meant nothing to him. It shouldn’t have mattered because it had only been one kiss. Nothing to write home about, right? But that kiss…the memory still gave my heart palpitations.
For a moment I considered turning around and leaving. He was already awake and knew how to get to training. And maybe he’d forget and be late. Then the coach would put him on the bench for the next test game. The start of the season was only three weeks away, so he was less tolerant when it came to Xavier’s bullshit.
But I was Xavier’s assistant and even his friend, and being petty wasn’t in my nature, so I turned on the espresso unit so he could finish his business without me overhearing every second of it.
Taking a deep breath, I waited for Xavier to be done with his woman of the night and busied myself sorting through his mail. The only appointment, except for training, was something Xavier had added to the calendar only yesterday evening after he’d dropped me off at home. It said only “W.S. afternoon,” and I had no clue what to make of it. But the more pressing problem was that I needed to get Xavier to training in exactly forty minutes, and he was still busy banging his date.
My mouth twisting, I took out the milk and cups, and made myself a cappuccino. I sipped at it when more screaming rang out above, only this time it sounded angry, and a woman stormed onto the landing, half-dressed and looking royally pissed. Usually women left Xavier’s bedroom with a dreamy little smile or a look of sick infatuation. The anger came later, when he didn’t call them back. “You’re an asshole.”