Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Perhaps Hollis can help. Hollis, with his easy smile. His surprisingly thoughtful attitude. His humor.
And, as I look at him a beat longer, his sea-blue eyes, his muscles for days, and that constellation of blue ink-spot bruises that travel across the fair skin of his shoulders and abs.
I want to touch them gently, ask if they hurt.
Yes, he’s a very nice distraction from my shitty night. Even Donut thinks so. She hasn’t let him out of her eyesight. She’s stretched on the wooden planks of the deck, watching his every move as he heads to his duffel wearing nothing but that low-slung towel. He grabs the bag and slings it on his shoulder. “Be right back.”
I didn’t stare before, wanting to respect his privacy, but I peek now, cataloging the breadth of his chest, the strength of his legs, and most of all, the crook in his grin as he heads inside, leaving me with a wink and a fizzy feeling in my chest that I can’t entirely blame on the Chablis.
The guy is lightning fast. I barely have a few seconds to catch my breath, since he’s striding right back out onto the deck wearing yellow board shorts and holding a mug. I look him up and down appraisingly. “You’re speedy.”
“I’m fast at some things. Not others.”
Well, that’s an invitation, and I take it. “What are you fast at?”
Setting the mug on the wood planks of the deck, he dips a toe in the water. “Skating. Talking. Listening to a woman.”
“And what do you take slowly?”
He steps into the hot tub, releasing a slow and satisfied breath as the water caresses his legs. “Getting into a hot tub. Enjoying a meal. Making sure everyone is satisfied,” he says, letting that last one float temptingly over to me.
He sinks down, sighing appreciatively as he disappears into the water. I join him, sitting across from him on the other side as my pop playlist cycles to the next tune—an upbeat number on moving on, full of brassy vocals and power chords.
Hollis dips his head back in the water then slides his hands through his hair and groans. Watching him enter a hot tub is one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen. It’s exciting to watch a man enjoy something so unabashedly. So often men seem to hold back, unless they’re watching or playing sports. They rarely, or so I suspect, show their true selves. But there’s something refreshingly honest about his visceral enjoyment, then the words, “Fuck me. This is niiiiice.”
“Would you like a minute alone with the hot tub?”
Laughing, he shakes his head. “Nope. Hot tubs are like singing and showers. Best enjoyed together.”
“I look forward to your morning shower serenade then,” I say.
“You’ve been warned, Briar.” He stretches his arms across the back of the tub. “Thanks for sharing. I needed this.”
“Rough game?”
“Definitely.”
“You should be doing more yoga,” I tease.
“You’re not wrong.”
“It definitely helps with muscle stiffness,” I say.
He smirks, perhaps thinking of other stiff things. Or maybe that’s just my mind jumping ahead.
He looks around the deck, craning his neck at the stars, then the rolling hills, then the house and finally me. He gestures to my glass. “Now tell me. Why are you drinking regret?”
I grab the nearby bottle, waggling it. “Want to try some? It’s a good vintage. A crisp white regret.”
“Sounds perfect post-game.”
He reaches for his mug and hands it to me. I pour some Chablis, then give it back to him. After a drink, he whistles in approval but then asks again, his expression serious now. “What’s going on? Why is this a hot tub of contemplation?”
“It’s nothing. I don’t want to ruin the vibe,” I say, dismissing my earlier comment.
He wiggles his fingers. “Come on. You can’t ruin the vibe.”
“Oh, I bet I could.”
He studies me, arches a brow. “Let’s see. You’re contemplating life choices in a hot tub. Is it the ex-hole again?”
I grimace, and that’s answer enough.
He growls. “You didn’t get back together with him, did you?”
I scoff. If I’d been drinking, I would’ve done a spit-take all over the hot tub. “Do I look stupid?”
“No, you look smart, and smart is hot.”
I freeze for a second, letting that compliment sink in. I haven’t gotten one like that before, but I like it. “He wrote an article for his website about signs a relationship is in trouble, and he was clearly referencing me without naming me.”
Hollis growls, low and menacing. “That guy is the worst.”
I’m not usually a blurter. I’m more measured. I keep things inside. But that article unlocked something in me. Something fiery, something angry, so I let it all out. “He said we had no chemistry,” I continue, surprised at how easily the details, embarrassing and insulting as they are, spill out. “His top ten list of red flags was about me. A lack of chemistry. A lack of desire. Claiming I didn’t know how to kiss.”