Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
He opened the door a few seconds later, wearing sandals as I’d expected, jeans, and a t-shirt from Wentworth College. It was faded and worn like it had been through the wash a hundred times or more. It must have shrunk a bit, or else Jeremy had been working out, because it was tight across his chest and shoulders, showing off defined muscles I hadn’t realized were there. Jeremy took good care of himself.
“Hi.”
I realized I’d been staring. What had Jeremy said? “Um… hi. Sorry. I was… distracted.” Don’t talk anymore.
Jeremy smiled. “That’s okay. I usually am, especially around you. Wait. That didn’t come out right.”
He’s flirting with you. Respond to it.
I can’t.
You can face down an enemy who’ll do anything to achieve his goals, but you can’t flirt with a man you desperately want?
Yes. That’s… yes.
“I’m almost ready. I’m just going to grab a sweater and a blanket. It gets cold out there by the end of the play.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea,” I said. “I didn’t think about that.”
“You want to borrow a sweatshirt? I have a few that are big on me. I think they would fit you.” Jeremy’s gaze skimmed my shoulders and then dropped lower for a fraction of a second before he met my gaze again, cheeks reddening.
He wants you. “That would be great, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all.” Jeremy gave me a shy smile and dashed off. I was still standing on the doorstep, so I moved into the foyer and shut the door.
I was ridiculously excited about wearing Jeremy’s sweatshirt. How old was I anyway, thirteen? I couldn’t help it though. Would it smell like him? I hadn’t dared get close enough to really analyze Jeremy’s scent, but his bedroom smelled lemony-fresh like summer. Would Jeremy smell like that too? I could imagine him in the middle of a summer day, lying naked in a meadow, sated and flushed after…
What the fuck? I had to stop this. He and I weren’t going on a date, not that I’d know what to do if we were since I’d never actually been on one unless taking a girl to prom as a favor to make her ex jealous counted. I didn’t want to date Jeremy anyway, even if I could.
You’re such a fucking liar.
Jeremy returned then, carrying a hooded sweatshirt along with what appeared to be a collared cardigan he’d stolen from the set of a 1950s TV show. I was tempted to check it for elbow patches. It would make almost anyone else look like a douche, but Jeremy would look sexy as hell in it. Fucking Hell. Was I going to start having fantasies about Father Knows Best sweaters? Maybe I did need a shrink. But since none of them had been able to do anything for me after my last mission in Afghanistan, I didn’t trust they could cure me of my new obsession with soft-skinned poets and hipster clothes.
I took the offered sweatshirt, and Jeremy grabbed an enormous picnic basket from the hall table. I’d packed a few ham sandwiches and an apple. Obviously, our ideas of a picnic were not the same. Was that a bottle of wine sticking out of the basket?
“I’ve got plenty to share,” Jeremy said. He must have noticed me staring at the basket. “I wasn’t sure if you were packing anything or not, and since you offered to drive…”
“Sabrina offered for me to drive.” Those words came out more resentfully than I meant them to. Jeremy’s smile faded. “Not that I minded or anything,” I added, hoping to salvage the moment. “I appreciate you packing extra food for me. I brought some, but nothing that fancy.”
“Oh, it’s not fancy, really. It’s just some meat and cheese and crostini. And some mustard and chutney to go on it. And a pint of berries and a pound cake I made this morning. I’d been craving one.”
I stared, almost too stunned to speak. “You bake too?”
Jeremy’s cheeks turned even redder. "Yes. I spend so much time in my head that it feels good to work with my hands on occasion. I make my own bread most of the time, too.”
“That’s… I love pound cake, and your food is way fancier than mine.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. Like I said, I’m happy to share.” Jeremy really didn’t seem to care how different we were; he’d never said anything to make me feel inferior. I wasn’t just some jarhead to Jeremy, and that meant a lot. I wasn’t used to men like Jeremy—wealthy, intelligent men—treating me like an equal. Some of the clients I cleaned for were awesome, but there were others who treated me like I was there to serve their every whim. Not that I’d mind serving a whim or two of Jeremy’s. The man wasn’t only hot; he continued to impress me more every time I spent time with him.