Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
He chuckles. “Have you set a timer?”
“Yes. When you hear my phone chime, send your dick the memo to get ready.”
Ozzy barks a laugh, tipping his head back. “Baby, I’m always ready for you.” He rests his hand on my lower back and guides me down the deck stairs toward the yard, lit with string lights and lined with lawn chairs, with music flowing from several portable speakers synced to Hozier’s “From Eden.”
Forty-five minutes turns into two hours.
One last glass of wine turns into two. Four glasses are two past my limit. We lose badminton to three different couples—entirely my fault. My vision is too impaired to connect my racket to that stupid little birdie. Every miss triggers a fit of giggles.
“That was terrible, babe,” Ozzy says, playfully swatting my ass with his racket after we lose for the last time.
Babe.
I’ve never had this. I’ve never been anyone’s babe or baby. If I’m honest, I’ve never been in love, not like this.
While Jamie, Fitz, and a group of couples head toward the basement to play pool, I pull Ozzy around the side of the house to the front yard, trying to remember where I parked.
“Can you walk?” He laughs, grabbing my waist when I trip over a slightly uneven spot on the sidewalk.
I turn toward him, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him. My head spins. It’s a great buzz. And he tastes so good. He feels even better than he tastes.
“Whoa . . .” He stops my hands from unzipping his jeans. “Let’s find your RAV first.”
“I want you,” I murmur, kissing his neck and gripping his shirt to keep from losing my balance. “I want to taste you.”
He groans, holding my face while rapidly scanning the area. “Some of Lola’s teachers are still in the house. I can’t have them witnessing this.”
I giggle. “I don’t think they would tell her.”
He closes his eyes and shakes his head.
I sigh. “I love you.”
There is nothing more sobering than a leaked declaration of love. Maybe he didn’t hear me. I didn’t mean it. Well, I did, but I didn’t mean to say it now, or ever, for that matter. He’s not some random guy. My heart is invested in him. I’ve told my parents about him. And maybe we haven’t known each other long enough, but when you know, you know.
Ozzy’s hands fall from my face like two bricks tossed out a second-story window. He parts his lips, but no words escape while he slowly blinks.
I swallow hard and squint. “I meant I love your humor.”
Ozzy’s expression intensifies. “I wasn’t being funny.”
I run my hands through my hair. “I’m drunk.”
“Maren—”
“It’s . . . it’s nothing.” I turn, taking a few steps away from him, trying to remember where I parked. “I love Jamie, Fitz, and Will. I even love my cat. Sunny days. Hiking. Carrot cake.” I continue down the sidewalk as if I know where I’m going. “I love lots of things. It’s such an arbitrary word. Don’t you agree?”
After digging my key fob from my mini crossbody sling, I push the unlock button until my RAV beeps in the opposite direction. Spinning on my toes to follow the sound, I run into Ozzy. He grabs my arms to steady me without letting go, so I stare at his chest.
“It doesn’t feel fair to love you,” he says.
Given the wine I’ve had tonight, sweeping me off my feet should be easy, but that’s not the right line. It doesn’t feel fair to whom? Him? Me? Brynn? The universe?
“Whoa.” I laugh. “You’re blowing this way out of proportion. I loved you for fetching me toilet paper and a pad the day we met. I love these shoes.” I kick a foot back. “I love a good bottle of merlot. But merlot isn’t jealous of my shoes.” I hold up my hands and pull away from his hold on me. “Don’t read into anything. Please.” I brush past him toward my RAV. I sigh when I get there and grab the door handle to the driver’s side. “I’m not driving home,” I mumble.
My declaration of love has ruined the moment. This is supposed to be my subtle exit. But I need a driver, and it won’t be him.
“Are we not getting into the back seat?” he asks, standing behind me.
I close my eyes and blow out a long breath. “I said the wrong thing because I’m not completely sober. Now I feel agitated that my thoughts are jumbled, and you’re thinking that I meant something that I didn’t, and—”
“Maren.”
“It’s late anyway. You should head home—”
“Maren.”
“Because it’s getting late. And—”
“Maren!”
I startle and turn toward him, arms crossed over my chest. “What?”
“I said it didn’t feel fair to love you. I didn’t say that I don’t love you.”
Goddammit!
I’m not drunk enough—not numb enough.