Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 101466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
He planned the best dates.
And he was rewarded handsomely for them.
This morning, he had presented me with tickets to a show in Toronto called Come from Away, which I was excited to see. We had late dinner plans and wouldn’t be home until well after midnight.
This dress was different from the others. It was ultra girly. All lace, deep blue, and strapless, it clung to my torso then flared into a wide skirt. The little overlay for my shoulders was the same lace and tied with a bow. It came past my knees and was fancy enough I’d had to buy shoes. Luckily, I found a pair of simple flats, although the salesperson tried to convince me to purchase heels. Once she saw me attempt to walk in them, she changed her mind.
Lori came with me and decided not only did I need shoes, but I should also have makeup. I informed her I had never worn it, but she kept it easy, and I was wearing some mascara and lip stain. I had to admit the mascara made my eyes pop, and the lip stain seemed to do exactly what it promised—stay in place.
I was nervous about Jesse seeing me and his reaction.
I heard the knock on the front door and smiled. He insisted on that every week. And bringing me flowers. I had to admit I loved it. I grabbed my little purse and headed downstairs. Taking a deep breath, I opened the front door and waited as he turned around.
He wore his suit, a new blue tie around his neck, almost matching the color of my dress. He looked good enough to eat. His eyes widened as he took me in, shaking his head.
“Holy shit, Pix. You are a fucking siren.”
I burst out laughing and took the flowers he offered me.
He came in, cupping my face. “I can’t kiss you. I’ll ruin your lipstick.”
I shook my head. “No, it’s stain. It’s supposed to be un-smearable.”
“Ah. A challenge.”
His mouth descended on mine, and he kissed me deeply, his tongue delving and exploring. The man knew how to kiss. He held my face, directing me how he wanted. Then he slipped a hand to my waist and pulled me close, still kissing me. Finally, he stepped back, his breathing heavy. I knew I was flushed, and my chest rose and fell rapidly.
“The lipstick won,” he murmured. “I’ll have to keep trying.”
I had no objections to his plan.
“Your eyes are incredible,” he told me. “You are sensational, Casey. You take my breath away.”
“Thank you.”
“If we didn’t have tickets and a dinner reservation, I’d take you upstairs…” He blew out a breath. “Never mind. We do have tickets and a reservation after.”
“Rain check,” I offered.
He leaned down and kissed me. “Dessert.”
I was good with that.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
CASEY
The show was incredible, and after, we went to a great Italian place walking distance from the theater. Jesse looked a little tired, but when I suggested we grab something and head home, he refused. “I planned this, Pix. We’re having dinner, then going home, and I’m having you.”
They sat us in a curved booth, and we slid in, Jesse beside me, his firm thigh pressed against mine. The booth was secluded and romantic.
“Maybe you should let me do the work tonight,” I said with a wink as I rubbed his leg, sliding my hand up to give his cock a squeeze. I wasn’t surprised to feel it half hard. He often was when we were together. I took it as a compliment.
“Jesus,” he muttered, shifting in his seat. “You’re killing me.”
I grinned, and we looked over the menu, deciding to split a house salad and one of the delicious-looking pastas that went past us, the plates piled high. Jesse ordered a neat scotch, and I chose water.
After the waiter left, Jesse studied me. “May I ask a question?”
“Of course,” I replied, dipping the fragrant bread in the olive oil and balsamic vinegar they’d mixed with some spicy seasoning. I shut my eyes as I chewed and swallowed. I leaned forward, offering him the bread. “You have to try this.”
He took it and chewed, nodding in appreciation.
“You rarely ever order a drink. I’ve seen you have some wine, but not often. I know a couple of spritzers do you in, so you never drink much. Is that because of your father?”
I shrugged. “Partly. My mom never touched the stuff. We moved around so much, I didn’t hang with friends or do the usual teenage stuff like sneaking liquor from my parents’ cabinet. I never developed a taste for it. If I have a drink, I prefer to make it myself, or I order extra mix to dilute it. And I tend to choose sweet things. I enjoy those canned mixed drinks because they’re so sugary. And I love a margarita. A virgin one. If I order one in a restaurant, I ask for half the tequila.”