Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
And then a third text.
Matt: In other words, there has to be some perks of being the boss, right?
I want to smile, but I won’t. The man is entirely too cute for his own good. Even when he’s being incomprehensible. Which might be another problem, if I let it go that way.
See you at 10? comes his next, and final, text.
Should I draw the line at being picked up? I’m not his girlfriend—he shouldn’t be running around London after me. The traffic is enough to make you want to tear out your hair from the roots. On the other hand, I don’t think I could stomach the hot-metal-and-grease smell of the Underground this morning.
I give in to a whole-body shiver at the thought of all that stale air and the carriage rocking.
Maybe I’ll draw that line another day.
Chapter 21
Matt
“You look nice.”
“Thanks.” She twists, reaching for the seat belt, though I still note the tiny pinch in her brow as she simultaneously reaches for the door handle.
“I’ve got it,” I say, making as though to close it. “That’s okay, isn’t it? Paying you a compliment. Telling you you look nice.” Because she does. Whether it’s the clothes she’s wearing, the muted tones, the fabrics that seem soft and inviting right down to her woolen bobble hat, or the fact that she seems to be glowing, I don’t know.
Or maybe it’s more because I’ve been thinking about her for weeks. Fantasizing. Wondering what if. Anyway, who knows why I feel the way that I do. Mother Nature and the mysteries of the world. What I do know is Ryan was the last person I thought about before I dropped off to sleep. And that she was on my mind the instant I peeled my eyes open.
“Yeah. I guess.” Her answer is nothing if not hesitant. “You look nice too.”
“Thanks.” I grin and close the door with a solid thunk before I say or do anything stupid. Like High five! I put a baby inside you.
What the fuck is with that? Why does that make me want to preen? As if bombarding her with texts this morning wasn’t enough idiocy for one day.
“Where are we going?” she asks as I climb in and start the engine.
“For breakfast, if you can face it. You’re not sick or anything, are you?” Fucking calm down!
“I’m kind of starving and jonesing for a coffee. Decaf from here on out, I guess.”
“I know just the place.”
After a period longer than I bargained, thanks to the traffic, I pull to a stop just off Kensington High Street.
“It says ‘restricted parking.’” Ryan points to the signage. “There on a pole.”
“So it does,” I say, muting the engine anyway.
Audi before, Range Rover today. I’m not a petrolhead. A car is to get you from A to B, as far as I’m concerned, though I do own a few of them. One of the perks of being worth a penny or two is the ability to buy a new motor without the inconvenience or necessity of having to sell the previous one. Anyway, I left the Audi at home in favor of something more solid, my responsibilities this morning already feeling quite profound.
I loosen my belt, and Ryan is out of the car before I can get there to help.
“I was joking about the parking tickets before,” she says, straightening her oatmeal-colored coat. “But maybe you weren’t.”
I find myself staring at her. At least it’s not raining today, because her coat doesn’t even have buttons. She is as cute as a button, though. All that dark hair flowing from under her adorable bobble hat, coat almost trailing her ankles.
“Matt?”
“Huh? What?”
“Don’t tell me.” She’s all taunt and mischievous grin as she tightens the belt on her coat. “You’re frowning because you wanted to open the car door for me.”
“Well, yeah.” But not as much as I wanted to stick my hand up your sweater to see if you have an undershirt on. For starters, at least. What the fuck is wrong with me this morning? “There’s nothing wrong with a bit of chivalry, is there?”
“What do you suppose God gave me these for?” she retorts, making jazz hands.
“Maybe for this,” I say, taking one of them and linking my fingers between hers. We set off along the road.
“So we’re holding hands now?” she says, slanting her gaze my way. And by that, I mean upward. Her boots aren’t heeled, which really emphasizes the height difference between us.
“Looks that way.” Sure, she’s only two hands higher than a duck, I hear my mother say. I can’t wait for that lot to meet her. I’ve just got one or two things to take care of first. Like getting her to stay. “And you look to be enjoyin’ it, what with your cheeks so pink.”
“Dream on,” she retorts as she tries to pull her hand from mine. Not a chance, darlin’. “It’s just cold.” She uses her free hand to adjust her hat as though to prove her point. “What? It is!”