Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Today is all about Sadie.
Sometime later, she returns dressed in jeans and a black and white flannel shirt. Her wild hair is tamed into a ponytail.
Pocketing my phone, I cross the few feet separating us and pull the tie from her locks.
“Why’d you do that?” She reaches for the black band, but I slip it onto my wrist before she can steal it back.
“I love your hair.”
“It’s a disaster. I don’t want to know what it’ll look like after the wind whips the shit out of it.”
“Mmm, sexy as fuck,” I say, wrapping her thick mane around my fist. “That’s how it’ll look.” I think she’s going to fight my hold, but she doesn’t. Her startled gaze locks on mine, and her mouth parts, releasing a quick breath.
“Have you always thought of me like that?” Nerves shake the question off her tongue.
Tightening my grip on her hair, I lean closer until we’re breathing the same air. “I’ve had dirty thoughts about you long before you decided to get a taste of me.”
“Did these thoughts happen before or after you fucked every woman within a fifty mile radius?”
“Better watch it, Sawyer. That sounds a lot like jealousy.”
“Sounds like a question to me.” She jerks her head back, and I let her hair slip from my fist. “Are you taking me for a ride, or are we going to stand here all day flirting with disaster?”
A smile twitches at the corners of my mouth. She’s sassy today, that attitude a shield for the defenses hiding behind it. We’re barely two days into this arrangement, and already, I’m rattling her composure.
No kissing. No sex.
If she thinks those rules will protect us from changing the foundation of our friendship, she’s delusional. Things are already shifting—she set the inevitable into motion when she crawled under that table two nights ago and unzipped me.
Chapter Ten
Sadie
Riding on the back of Ashton’s bike again is exhilarating. A sense of freedom overcomes me as we fly down the two-lane highway. On either side of us, trees whiz past in a mural of burnt oranges, bright yellows, and flaming reds. The further we get away from Douglas Falls, the more beautiful the scenery. A hint of rain is in the air, and if Oregon had a signature scent, it would be the freshness of rainfall.
The skies can open and pour on us for all I care because I feel alive. My long hair whips around my face despite the helmet Ash made me wear, and though it’ll be a tangled mess by the time we arrive wherever he’s taking me, I’m not bothered by the wind in my hair. I’m more interested in our destination.
He wouldn’t tell me. It’s a surprise, he said with that smirk-like grin of his.
As the road curves, Ash leans with it. And I lean with him, my hands clasped tightly over his abdomen, my thighs warm against him. I’d be lying if I said being so close like this isn’t affecting me. I grow hot between my legs, and it’s not just from the heat of his body. I rest my head against his back and close my eyes, enjoying the thrilling sensation of flying.
Several minutes later, the bike slows, and I pop my lids open to find we’re pulling into the parking lot of a diner. It’s an out-of-the-way place I’ve never been to before, and plenty of miles from Douglas Falls. No chance of running into anyone we know here.
He parks the bike then helps me off, and as we head toward the entrance, Ashton takes my hand in his. The place doesn’t look like much from the outside, with its grimy windows and fading brown paint, but once we cross through the doors, my mouth waters at the wafting aroma of pancakes and bacon hitting my nostrils. The interior of the restaurant has been updated. I like the rustic feel, with the wood flooring and knobby oak tables and benches. We pass by a sign instructing customers to seat themselves, and Ash leads me to a booth in the back.
“Have you been here before?” I ask, sliding in across from him. The privacy of the booth isn’t lost on me.
“A few times. The crew stopped here for lunch over the summer when we were working in the area.”
“Do you like your job?”
“Sure,” he says, taking off his jacket. “Better than being trapped inside all day long.”
As I pick up a menu, I eye his arms and chest. He’s wearing a black thermal shirt that fits him to perfection. No doubt, his muscles got their definition on the job. I don’t know much about what he does for a living, but I’ve noticed how ripped he’s become since he started working for the Forest Service a couple of years ago. He smells like the outdoors most of the time, and it’s a scent I’ve come to associate with him. A scent I’ve always loved.