Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“Oh shit . . .” I gasp, filling my lungs with air. My thighs are trembling.
My pajama bottoms are now a sticky crime scene.
I pull back an inch, dazed, trying to school my face and failing, because she’s flushed and gorgeous and wrecked in the best way, sweater rucked high, lips kiss bruised, looking at me in the most satisfied way.
“What the hell was that?” I whisper.
“Extra credit?” she breathes, looking none too pleased.
I huff a laugh that makes me sound like I just hit puberty. “I—Jesus, Layla. I didn’t mean to—”
“Hey.” Her palm slides to my neck. “That was very, very okay.”
“Okay?” I glance down at the ruin of my dignity, my dick deflating at a rapid pace, come dripping down the inside of my leg. “I just jizzed in my fucking pants.”
She laughs.
I groan, forehead dropping to her shoulder as I try to catch my breath. The aftershocks keep nipping at me; I’m useless. “I need five minutes. New legs.”
“Go, Fielder,” she says, dimples out. “I’ll get the muffins in the oven.”
Chapter 14
Layla
It may be time to tell my best friend, Faith, I’m in Arizona.
With a man.
It’s one thing for Annabelle to know, because she can relate; it’s another completely for me to be here without informing the human closest to me I threw caution to the wind and—
I snuggle into the guest bed and stare at the ceiling, burrowing into the crisp white sheets that are hotel quality and smell like detergent with a hint of cedar.
“Mmm.” Cozy.
My body is deliciously loose, my lips perfectly used, and somewhere within the large house, the dishwasher hums a lullaby while the oven cools. So satisfying.
“This better not be you calling to tell me Maddie changed her mind about the bachelorette venue” are the first words out of Faith’s mouth.
“Relax.” I smile into the nothingness. “Your Jamaican vacation is safe. This is a different kind of emergency.”
“An emergency? Pray tell.”
Let’s see, how do I put this? “Today I hopped a plane and flew to Arizona, and I’m at a man’s house.”
A beat. “I have no idea what to say to that.” Pause. “What man? Who is it?” She’s shouting now, and I imagine her out on the balcony of her lakeside cottage, sipping a hot mug of tea the same way she likes to do every night to settle in.
“Well. You know that football player we had at the Fall Fest?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s him.”
Another long stretch of silence goes by before she says, “Are you shitting me right now?”
I shake my head. “No, I am not shitting you.” I’m laughing. “I’m telling you in case I get murdered, although that’s very unlikely.”
“Pause. Hold up. My brain is freaking the fuck out right now. I can’t . . . What . . . How . . .” She exhales. “Start talking. I need details.”
Of course she does.
I give her the highlights I failed to give her already for fear of getting her excited: bumping into Blake and his new girlfriend, Hayes fake kissing me for show, Benny inviting me to visit, how Hayes paid for my flight, the kiss we shared in the pool.
I edit liberally around most everything that requires too much explanation. “Tonight he and I baked muffins, and by ‘baked,’ I mean . . . we made out covered in sugar.”
“I’m shook,” Faith whispers. “I’m still trying to wrap my brain around this.” A long sigh. “Hayes Fielder is so hot.”
He is.
“What’s he like?” she goes on.
“He’s not like they present him in the media. He’s an amazing dad and very thoughtful and—” I stop myself short. “Not that it matters, this is a weekend thing. He’s him, and I’m a nobody from Star Lake, Washington.”
“You’re not a nobody.” I can hear Faith scowling through the phone. “You’re beautiful and sweet and funny.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh yeah—that makes me a huge standout among all the pretty women vying for his attention.”
“Please.” Faith snorts. “If pretty was the only requirement, every plastic, Botoxed face in the US would be married to an NFL player. He invited you into his home to spend time with his child, made you snacks, wants you to relax, and can’t keep his hands off you.”
I chuckle at her fervor. “You’re biased.”
“Obviously. But look—just because it was impulsive for you to go there and impulsive for him to ask—that doesn’t make it less real or mean that he can’t catch feelings. Enjoy it while it’s yours. Be present. Don’t narrate yourself out of the moment.”
I stare at the slice of moonlight on the wall. “He is such a good kisser.”
“God, don’t give me any details. Clarke has been gone on that dumb fishing trip for seven days, and I’m so horny I wore out the batteries in my favorite vibrator.”
That has me giggling. “Then I shouldn’t tell you how we were dry humping against his counter and he came in his pants?”