Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Kynan chuckles and shakes his head. “Wow… our first Jameson baby. If it’s a boy, you should name him Jameson. Or Kynan. That would be nice.”
“That’s up to Wright,” I say with a pointed look over the rim of my cup. It’s not going to be something I even need to wrap my head around.
I get a return grin, and it chafes he’s amused at me.
“So,” he says slyly, with a little wink. “You and Wright, huh? Can’t say I saw that one coming.”
“I didn’t see it coming either.” The petulance in my voice makes his chuckle go to a belly laugh. I roll my eyes. “Just stop. I was upset over Joram, had way too much liquor, and well… he was all hot looking and I needed the distraction.”
“Was it good?” he asks. In normal circumstances, I should be offended. Yes, this man is my friend, but he’s also my boss. And he’s asking about a personal intimacy.
But I’m not, because Kynan and I used to be lovers before we settled into a good friendship without benefits. That was long ago, but there was a time I laid in bed with him and spilled secrets. He was by my side during some of my darkest days. While we haven’t been carnal with each other in almost a decade—since I started work at Jameson as a matter of fact—he still has firsthand knowledge of my sex life. We can’t exactly frequent the same sex club without seeing a few things.
“It was good,” I admit, but that’s not the full truth. It was spectacular, and that’s surprising to me. I was totally buzzed from the alcohol and full of seething anger at myself. It should have been hard as hell for anyone to get me off, but damn if Wright didn’t do it in just a few short minutes.
He’d thrown me on the bed and because I’d already been naked, his first move had been to shove his face between my legs. The first touch of his tongue on me and my back arched so high I thought I’d broken it.
Just minutes.
Minutes and a very talented mouth, and I was screaming out the first of three orgasms.
“Your face tells me all I need to know,” Kynan says knowingly.
My face flushes red, and I wonder how long I’d zoned out thinking about that night with Bodie.
Wright.
I need to think of him as Wright.
Just a coworker and a teammate.
“Whatever,” I growl under my breath, but then give Kynan a very bland look. “Like I said, it just happened. It was a onetime thing.”
“If you say so,” he intones in such a way that I know he doesn’t believe me.
“I do say so,” I say firmly.
“I believe you,” he says soberly, but then his lips break into a grin. “No, I don’t. I just saw that look on your face. Whatever Wright gave you that night in addition to a baby blew your fucking mind. You’re going back for more.”
“Am not,” I insist.
“Are too,” he says like a five-year-old.
“He’s too young for me,” I argue.
“You dig that hole deeper, Hart. Keep telling me all the reasons you’re not going to fuck Bodie Wright again, and I’m going to laugh in your face when it happens.”
It won’t, I think stubbornly. No way.
“Just drop it, McGrath,” I tell him. “I’ve got more important things to worry about.”
His expression sobers, and he nods. “Yeah, I know. And I’ve got your back. But just remember… nothing wrong with you and Wright hitting it together.”
I really wish he hadn’t said that.
CHAPTER 3
Bodie
My cell phone rings, and I roll slightly on the couch to nab it from the coffee table. My mom’s pretty round face is on the screen, and I’m smiling when I answer. “And how is the best mom in the entire world doing today?”
Estelle Wright giggles into the phone. Most fifty-year-old women can’t pull giggling off well, but my mom is lit from within by a natural sunny disposition. Practically anything that comes out of her mouth is joyful.
“Oh, you stop it,” she chides, the distinctive sound of her beating something within a bowl coming over the line. The woman can never sit still.
“Whatcha making?” I ask, my stomach rumbling with the thought of my mom’s home cooking.
“A birthday cake for Rebecca,” she says, and I can imagine her now… her phone pressed between her shoulder and ear while she rests her big blue ceramic bowl against her stomach, perhaps whipping batter with a wire beater. She never uses an electric mixer, always preferring her own elbow grease instead.
“Her birthday’s not until next weekend,” I point out.
“Oh, I know,” she huffs into the phone. “But she’s a little princess and wanted a birthday cake today, so I capitulated.”
I laugh deeply because that’s so like my little niece. She’s my sister Jennifer’s daughter and is five going on thirty-five. Jennifer had her when she was just nineteen. It was an unplanned pregnancy with her high school sweetheart, but they’ve made it work. They live in the big farmhouse with my mom and dad, along with my twin brothers Jeff and Kurt, who are seniors in high school. Jennifer’s husband works the farm with my dad.