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)
I really don’t want to stay with my dad. I love him and all, but I want to be close to the festival. After the last week of commuting, I don’t want to drive back and forth for everything.
Hollis winces, sets down the sea salt. “About that…It’s not just me though. The guys are coming too.”
My eyes pop. “Guys?”
“Rhys. Gavin.”
This is the mother of all booking snafus. I peer into the living room, then up the steps to the loft above. We can squeeze in. We can definitely squeeze. “There’s a loft and two bedrooms,” I suggest, trying to make this work as I break off another small bite.
“And a couch,” he says, gesturing to the scene of my fake out and my failure.
I cringe. “I’ll stay with my dad.”
Hollis shoots me a look that says c’mon. “No. You won’t.”
“Bossy,” I say but it doesn’t feel as light as it did when I said it last night.
“I’ll sleep on the couch. There’s also a tiny house on the property. There’s plenty of room. And you don’t need to deal with more shit in your life right now.”
Yup, I’m definitely the problem. “You’re too kind. But I can’t, especially after—”
“Listen, about last night. I’m sorry—”
I can’t have him think the fake O incident is his fault. I have to try again to fix this. I set down the phallic fruit and advance closer but not too close. “Hollis, I swear it’s not you. Truly. You’re hot and sexy, and your hands are amazing, and your kisses melted me.” And you look too tempting standing here in barely anything. “So it’s not you,” I say, even though I hate opening up. I hate letting people in. “I just…it’s a me thing. I don’t really orgasm.” There. That’s enough. I don’t want him to think it’s his fault.
He blinks, horrified. “Wha-a-a-t?”
“With others,” I say quickly, fidgeting with a jar of wooden spoons, like they need rearranging. “But seriously. I meant what I said last night. It’s no big deal.” That big spoon should go here. This little spoon there. “But we don’t have to keep rehashing it and you don’t have to apologize. Can we just…not talk about it again?”
He sighs. Appears to give it some thought. “On one condition.”
Is he going to ask to try again? Would I mind another shot? The tingles that rush down my chest say I wouldn’t mind at all. But then a voice in my head says, You know what would happen? Nothing, sucker!
“What’s the condition?” I ask. I’m not sure if I want him to sex blackmail me or not. I do, and I don’t. I don’t, and I do.
His grin is confident, borderline cocky. Like he knows he has a winning hand. “You stay here with us.”
18
BE OUR GUEST
Briar
Before I can answer him, Donut perks up from the living room floor, floppy ears lifting. She rushes to the front door and springs into the air, attempting to unlock it once again with a jump.
I snap my gaze toward my pup then peer out the window, spotting a sleek cherry-red car. I don’t recognize the make or model, but it sounds electric, since, well, it’s silent. But the crunchy gravel driveway is not.
Donut launches herself up again and again. Hollis looks at her curiously. “She jumps?”
Translation: how does a Dachshund spring two feet in the air when she’s not even one foot tall?
“She thinks she can jump-open a door.”
He seems to take that in as we stride to the door together, and it occurs to me I should answer him.
He’s been polite.
Kind.
And ridiculously generous in his shirtless-ness. But three sexy hockey studs and me sharing a house that’s really for three? “You don’t think it’ll be awkward if I stay here?”
It’s already awkward this morning. There’s so much weird tension. Which is understandable. But still, it’s there, like the lingering scent of garlic in the kitchen long after you’ve cooked a stir-fry.
A line digs into his forehead. “Because of—”
Before he can say last night, I wave that off. “Because of the house situation.”
“We’re good at sharing,” he says casually, advancing ahead of me toward the door while I chew on that.
We’re good at sharing.
He can’t mean…
Or does he?
No, he’s just talking about square footage and stuff. Not other kinds of sharing.
I try to dismiss the thoughts racing through my head as Hollis swings open the door. I tell Donut to stay by my side and she complies, parking her butt on the floor.
“Thanks but we don’t need any solar panels, security systems, or window washing,” Hollis calls out to the guys, wasting no time diving into the taunts.
“Then you can come get our bags and carry them in,” Gavin says, not missing a beat either as he steps out of the driver’s side, aviator shades on, brown hair wavier than usual, stubble coming in thicker than it was last week. It’s a good look on the strapping guy. He’s really got the whole strong-sturdy-man-who-can-scale-mountains thing working.