Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 114211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
His forehead screws up in that cute way it does. Then he says, “Do they have French toast?”
Ten minutes later, we’re seated in a booth by the window at that diner across the street, and Bridger learns they do. Delicious French toast, at that. A sweet old lady in a purple apron who could be anyone’s grandma has already served us coffee and juice.
“Every weekend since you guys met?” he asks me after a slurp of his coffee.
“Just about,” I confirm.
“Friday night clubbing, Saturday morning stack of pancakes, Saturday night round two, then Sunday morning in time for Trey’s service?”
“Well, when I don’t gotta work,” I clarify. “Like last Saturday. Duncan needed a shift covered at the gas station last minute, and thank God he did ‘cause otherwise … well …” I chuckle, thinking about it. “Can’t believe it’s been just a week since we met.”
Bridger nods over his coffee. “Longest week of my life. You’ve been a downright menace to deal with.”
“Speak for yourself,” I throw right back with a laugh. He goes for another sip of coffee, smirking. I cross my arms on the table and lean in. “Fuckin’ glad I decided to put up with you, though. I’d go through it all again if I could have a repeat of last night.”
“Including the premature—?”
“There wasn’t anything premature about anything last night,” I cut him right off. “I nut when I intend to nut, and I intended to nut precisely when I nutted.”
Of course I say that entire sentence the moment after our nice aproned grandma has returned with our orders, not having seen her standing there. She sets down our plates in front of us, smiles sweetly, and says, “I didn’t quite catch that, hon. Did you say you’d like a side of nuts with your pancakes?”
Bridger snorts into his coffee, causing it to splash at his face.
“No, thank you, ma’am,” I say flatly, wincing. She leaves us be to enjoy our breakfast. I kick Bridger under the table, which only results in making him laugh harder.
He sure ain’t laughing when he digs into his delicious, fluffy French toast. The guy barely puts on any syrup, which is a damned crime, and he shows next to nothing on his stoic face as he chews, but I know he’s having three orgasms in his mouth right now, savoring each and every bite. I feel a pinch of pride, watching him, applauding myself for bringing him to this secret breakfast spot. I cut off a huge bite of pancake and shovel it in, satisfied.
He gazes at me across the table. “So you want a repeat?”
I freeze mid-bite. “Huh?” I mumble through my mouthful.
“Last night. You said you’d want to … do it again?” He pauses. “With me?”
I finish chewing. It takes a minute, giving me time to think. “Well … I mean … yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“I mean …” I use the edge of my fork to cut off another bite, then stop and set it down for some reason. “I … enjoyed last night. A lot. Who the hell wouldn’t? And yeah, I meant what I said. I’d … I’d totally go through another week of hell just to enjoy a night like last night all over again.” I look down at my pancakes with a smile. “Though … maybe it’d be better without the week of hell.”
“And you liked spending it with me?”
I squint at him questioningly. “What’s this emphasis on you all about? What’re you gettin’ at? Are you askin’ …?” My voice lowers. “Are you askin’ if it could’ve been … just anyone I took back to my room last night?”
“That’s precisely what I’m asking.”
I sit back in my seat, staring at him across the table. He hasn’t taken another bite. This answer is really important to him.
I suddenly realize it’s really important for me to give it, too. “No,” I state harder than I mean to. “It couldn’t have been just anyone. Obviously. You crazy? It was you who … who made the night what it was. Who made me feel the way I did. Only you.”
I watch Bridger’s jaw tighten from my answer.
Then his lips curl up, his eyes filling with a superior glint of confidence I’ve gotten way too used to seeing all week. Except this time, it bothers me a lot less. In fact, it doesn’t bother me at all. It brings me joy, to see him flush with confidence at my answer.
“See?” I blurt, picking my fork back up. “I can say nice shit. I’m a nice guy. Just needed to give me time to prove it, you jerk.”
He chuckles under his breath and shakes his head as he goes for another bite, resuming his tasty breakfast.
Then it occurs to me to ask the same thing. “What about me?” I lean forward, fork in hand. “Could I have been just anyone? How many other questioning virgin guys have you slept with?”