Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 83070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“I don’t care.”
My bottom lip juts out. “I just need a little nap .... and maybe a sandwich.”
“Afterward. Come on, Miss Matcha.”
His nickname for me makes me laugh, and the sweet little grin makes me giddy. I slap my hand in his and let him pull me off the bed.
He sweeps me off my feet and carries me into the bathroom like the gentleman I’m learning he sometimes can be.
Chapter Eighteen
Carys
“Here.” Gannon tosses a pair of boxers and a plain white T-shirt on the vanity. “You can wear that.”
I turn away from the mirror, tucking my towel tighter against my chest. “I have clothes. I just need to get them from your office.”
He lifts a brow cockily. “I thought you were hungry?”
“I am.”
“Then you better put on the clothes I gave you because if you put that skirt back on, you’ll miss dinner.”
His grin is deliciously lazy as he strolls out of the bathroom in only black boxer briefs.
I heave a breath, returning to the sink and catching my reflection in the glass.
My cheeks are rosy, and my lips are swollen from the make-out session Gannon and I just shared in the shower. It was sweet and slow—my back pinned to the shower wall as he lavished his attention on my mouth. It starkly contrasted to the hard and fast action in the bedroom. A total mindfuck in the best way.
I slip on his clothes, inhaling the scent of his cologne embedded into the fibers. The fabric is warm and soft. I could burrow in his bed, wrapped up in his shirt and boxers, and fall asleep completely sated.
Instead, I run my fingers through my towel-dried hair and patter into the bedroom.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Probably close to midnight.”
“Are you usually up this late?”
He shrugs. “I’m kind of a night owl, I guess. Not by choice. You?”
“I’m usually in bed by ten. Ten thirty at the latest.”
“Really?” He nods, leading me out of the room. “That’s not what I was expecting you to say.”
“What did you expect? I’m curious.”
We take the stairs to the main level. “I don’t know. You seem like someone who has a full life.”
I grin at him. “Believe it or not, I don’t need to be picked up from parties because I’ve been drinking. That was a fluke.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
I laugh, following him into the kitchen.
“How do you feel about a grilled cheese sandwich?” he asks, opening a refrigerator.
“At midnight? Is there anything better?”
I mosey around the expansive space as he gets to work behind me. It’s a sight to behold. A massive kitchen with white quartz counters and state-of-the-art appliances opens to a family area with seating for ten, maybe twelve people. I imagine huge family dinners with everyone around the island sharing cocktails and stories or watching a football game on the oversized television.
It's a beautiful but blank canvas. With a little effort, it could feel warm … like a home.
“What are you doing with mayonnaise?” I ask, hopping onto a barstool. “I thought we were having grilled cheeses.”
“Ah, you don’t know the secret.”
“To what?”
He opens the lid and sticks a knife inside the jar.
“Mayonnaise has a higher smoke point than butter,” he says. “You get a crispier, more golden-brown crust and a better outside texture.”
I laugh. “Wow. Okay.”
He looks up, smiling shyly, and my heart almost stops.
There’s so much more to this man than I ever imagined.
“Wow, what?” he asks.
“Are you an amateur at anything? Is there anything you don’t know or can’t do?”
He chuckles. “My brothers would say I’m not great at everything.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“I mean it.” He slathers mayonnaise on four pieces of bread. “It’s the joke of the family. I can kick their ass at golf, but that’s it.”
“It seems they’ve never seen what you can do in bed.”
He looks up, and we exchange smiles.
My chest warms at our secret—because no one can ever know we’ve slept together. I can’t even tell Courtney because it could get back to Tate. But tonight was exceptional and a night I’ll never forget, and I’m happy it was with Gannon.
“Your house is gorgeous,” I say, looking around again. “How big is this place?”
“Too big.”
“So specific.”
He turns a burner on, placing a cast iron skillet over the flame.
“It’s about eight-thousand square feet,” he says, his back to me. “Six bedrooms and nine baths.”
I flinch. “That’s a lot of space.”
“It’s a lot of space,” he repeats, his voice fading away. “I bought this place ten years ago and think about selling it and moving into something smaller all the time. But I really like the peace and privacy, and moving seems like a headache that I don’t need.”
He works quietly, adding the bread and cheese to the skillet. Then he pours a glass of tea for each of us. I offer to help, but he refuses, ordering me to relax.