Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
“Carbs are always a good idea.”
“That should be a bumper sticker.” She moans when she pops a bite in her mouth. “I could live on this shit. Bagels, especially.”
“Same.” I pause, not reaching for a croissant ’cause I have a massive pecan roll coming that’ll be drenched in glaze and syrup, which will probably give me the Texas trots in a few hours.
Texas trots = the shits.
Use your imagination.
But I digress…
“You were sayin’?”
Daisy chews. Swallows. “I was thinking about the whole sex thing and how you can’t seem to keep your hands off me.”
I can feel the surprise on my face at her words. “Uh, excuse me? You’re the one who can’t keep her hands off me.”
Daisy laughs. “Ha ha, you’re funny.”
I’m insulted, kind of, and not used to being in this position. So she thinks I can’t keep my hands off her? I mean, it’s true that I went down on her, and it’s mostly true that I was on the verge of begging to drive to her house last night—but I can keep my hands off her.
Please. “This isn’t about sex.”
She looks pleased. “I’m so glad you said that because…I hear rumors, you know? And I’ve read stories, especially about athletes and—you know how it is.”
“By stories, you mean gossip on the internet?” It can’t hurt to be specific. It is what it is, googling shit is only natural, but you can’t believe everything you read. She’ll find that out soon enough if we start hanging out on a regular basis.
One of the main reasons my brother had a fake girlfriend last year was to keep the girls and media off his dick and out of his business. It’s sheer luck that situation worked out for him and now Ryann is living in the room across the hall, and they’re boning on the regular and talking about buying houses and other domestic shit.
“Sure. Gossip on the internet but also your neighbor, what’s her name?”
Fuck. She wants to know Shannon’s name?
How about not.
“Her name hardly matters.”
The way Daisy cocks her head at me tells me she does indeed believe Shannon’s name matters. The fact that Shannon ambushed us while we were on our “date” certainly does nothing to help my cause.
Daisy is a smart girl.
I’m sure she crossed the t’s and dotted the i’s.
Shannon has also not been so easily discouraged, stopping by too occasionally for comfort, texting to let me know she stopped by and trying to catch me when I’m home.
She has thus far been unsuccessful, and I hope it stays that way.
For now, Daisy seems content to let the matter of the neighbor girl drop, the food we ordered set in front of us lifts both our moods. Turns out, the farmer’s delight is one pancake on its own plate, hogging all the table space, hashbrowns on another plate, with an egg over easy.
“You were saying something about wanting to have lots of sex with me and letting me go down on you?” I tease, pushing my fork into the pecan roll.
“No. I was saying the opposite, you weirdo.” She chews on her pancake. “I’m proposing a sex ban.”
“A what?”
“A sex ban.”
“I was afraid that’s what you were saying.”
“I’m proposing that we start fresh and start over—like we just met.”
“I think that’s a terrible idea. I already know you. Starting over is like going back in time.”
“Not even.” She disagrees with a little shake of her head. “I don’t want to immediately fall into bed with you. I’m not the kind of girl who has sex in bathrooms and climbs into bed with a guy.”
I almost open my mouth to disagree with the sex in bathrooms part but think better of it, not wanting to get my ass chewed out for being insensitive.
“Daisy, I’m not judging you because you let me put my mouth on your pussy. I was there too.”
“Shh,” she hisses. “Would you keep your voice down?”
I glance around, noticing that the other patrons are literally not looking at us, not even a little.
“Dude, no one can hear us.” We’re in a back corner, and everyone seems to be engrossed in conversation.
“It’s ten in the morning—can we not use the word pussy in a sentence. You’ll give me a migraine.”
I watch her as I chew, loading my fork with a little bit of everything that’s on my plate for one perfect bite. Dip that bite in syrup, then stuff it in my mouth with a moan.
So good.
Some would say it was as good as her pussy, but she’s made it clear we’re not discussing that today.
I keep my mouth closed.
Goddamn, it’s hard to behave. Torture, almost.
I want to flirt and say things that are going to shock her into blushing, but like she said; it’s ten in the morning, and this isn’t the time or the place. Maybe she’s a breakfast person, but not a morning person?