Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 70458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
I blinked, unaware of when he’d finished brushing his teeth, and shrugged as I continued to dry my hair.
“I was thinking that I hadn’t seen that belt in a really long time,” I said softly.
He walked over to me and ran his hand along the length of my neck, dipping down low to hook his finger around my necklace.
“I haven’t seen this either,” he rumbled.
He tugged the necklace that he’d given me free of my shirt and fingered it.
I licked my lips.
“I carry it with me in my purse,” I replied. “I thought I’d lost it a few years ago. Found it in the back seat of my car after some frantic searching. I nearly lost my mind. I was literally crying for an hour when I happened to spot it between the seat cushions. My purse had dumped over in the back seat when I’d taken a turn.”
He dropped the chain, then cupped my face with one hand.
“I’d have bought you another one,” he said softly. “All you had to do was ask.”
I managed a smile, even though tears were stinging my eyes.
I turned off the hair dryer, set it carefully on the counter, then wrapped my hands around Louis’ neck.
“What was it that you wanted to say to me earlier?” I asked curiously.
He grinned. “I’ll show you when we get home.”
I fake pouted at him, causing him to grin too.
“You won’t convince me with that,” He bit my pouted lip lightly. “Now hurry up and finish getting ready. We have places to be. Things to do. Pizza to eat.”
“We’re not having pizza. We’re having Mexican food,” I said.
His eyes turned to me with a raised brow. “When did that change?”
I smiled at him with a wide grin in place. “I might or might not have been texting on your group chat all morning with your family. Then I talked with mine. And none of the ladies want pizza.”
He rolled his eyes. “They probably knew you weren’t me.”
I shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.” I paused. “I use punctuation, though. They likely knew immediately. And it wasn’t like I really tried to keep that it was me a secret.”
He winked and straightened, his hands going to his sleeves to push them back up to rest right under his elbow.
I walked to him and gestured for him to hold his arm out, which he did.
I quickly unrolled the sleeves, re-rolled them, then moved on to the next arm.
When I got to that arm, I ran my hand over the swirls of tattoos, wishing that I had the courage to get one.
“What?” he asked, pushing my hair behind my shoulder and trailing it down the length of my throat.
“I was thinking that I wished I had the courage to get one,” I admitted. “Every time I think about doing it, I freak out.”
He chuckled. “You’ve never liked needles.”
Nope. Which sucked, because I had to be stuck with one at least once a month.
“I’ll hold your hand when you get your first one,” he teased.
I looked up at him, and just as I was about to lean in for a kiss, there was a loud bang at the door.
“That would be my sister.” He sighed. “She’s supposed to meet us here to get a ride to Mom’s.”
My brows rose. “Why?”
He shook his head. “More secrets. It’s easier to just let her do her thing so she doesn’t have to lie about what she’s doing.”
I snickered and picked up my mascara wand.
“I’m almost done,” I said. “I just need a coat of mascara, put on actual jeans, and I’m ready.”
He winked and left the room, and fifteen minutes after that, with a screaming his head off Kase, we made our way to the restaurant.
“What’s his problem?” Louis asked curiously.
“He had to have shots before I came down,” she said, looking down at the inconsolable little boy in the car seat next to her. “He’s been running a mild fever for the majority of the morning.”
“Low grade fevers are normal,” I found myself saying as I watched, enraptured, as the muscles in Louis’ forearms worked as he turned the wheel. “They just suck.”
Louis and Beckham talked for the majority of the ride about absolutely nothing, studiously avoiding everything that came with talking about Beckham’s personal life.
When we arrived, it was to find our entire family—both Louis’ and mine—already there milling in the entrance as they waited to be seated.
The hostess was wringing her hands, looking fit to be tied.
“We’re almost ready,” she said. “There’s a rather large, rambunctious party that are celebrating something. Someone’s birthday or something. And people are asking to be moved away from them.” She winced.
“You can sit us near them, we’re loud, too,” Foster said. “In the meantime, can we go to the bar and get some beer?”
The hostess nodded her head enthusiastically. “If you don’t mind sitting next to them, I can seat you now.”