Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Carter: Does this surprise you?
Rachel: Do the triple question marks not make it clear how surprised I am? No one has ever said they wanted to braid my hair before.
Carter: You have very braid-able hair.
Carter: It looks nice right now too. Down, just like that, all swishing around your shoulders.
Rachel: I see you in the window next to Jane. Looking at me :)
Carter: Busted.
15
JACKASS COUCH
Carter
If you think about it, couches are the most dangerous pieces of furniture.
Take the bed, by contrast. You know what you’re getting into with that one—sleeping or fucking.
Then there’s the simple chair. It’s commonly used for sitting, but every now and then you can bend a woman over the back of it for a good, hard banging. Mostly, it’s a landing pad for clothes you haven’t yet put away.
A couch though?
Man, those are the shapeshifters of the furniture world, and they mess with you. Sometimes it’s a place to hang with your buds while you battle zombies at the end of the world with your game console.
But right now? It’s a jackass.
I’m parked on this silver-gray couch cushion inches away from Rachel on Tuesday night, catching the scent of her orange-blossom lotion, or shampoo, or perfume, or bodywash like it’s a wave I want to ride over and over.
We’re huddled together, checking out Date Night comments on my phone. Does this couch have it out for me? Is it testing me? Like, hey, motherfucker, try to figure out what to do on me right now that you’re this close to the woman you want.
Rachel points a polished sky-blue nail at the little screen. “Look at that one,” she says, and I linger my attention a second longer on her finger, even though that’s not what she’s drawing my attention to. But she has pretty hands, and I’m imagining how they’d look up above her head if I pinned her wrists like, say, on this couch. If I moved her underneath me.
Let me revise my description of the sofa. This couch is a demon.
I try to blink off the dirty thoughts, focusing on the task as I home in on the comments on our first-date video.
SanFranDude3 writes: Thanks, Carter. Really appreciate you showing us all up. Like any dude can live up to this now.
“Aww, poor guy,” I say in mock sympathy, then I scroll down to read a reply to him from a woman.
Because picking up your date, taking her to a chocolate shop, then listening to her is hard? Oh, wait. It is for most guys. You all need to learn how to date.
“Burn,” Rachel says, then turns to me with a satisfied smile. “Look at you, just showing up all the men out there.”
“Not my fault that some dudes fail at romance. I am not to blame.”
“Exactly,” she says, then grabs the phone and shimmies her shoulders. “I’ll reply.”
She taps out a comment. Is Carter showing up these guys? Or giving them the secret code for how to date?
I raise an eyebrow at her written reply. “Is that what I did?”
“Kind of,” she says, then nibbles on the corner of her lips, looking like she’s weighing something. Like she’s about to speak. Instead, she waggles the screen at me. “I mean, look at this comment.”
OMG he’s the best boyfriend.
I scoff-laugh. Not sure that’s true at all. “I’d have to disagree.”
“I don’t know,” she says then takes a beat, getting that look in her eyes again. The one that says something’s on her mind. “You were kind of boyfriend goals the other night, and that got me thinking…”
“About what?” I ask, trying to play it cool while inside I’m hoping she’s thinking about sex, and more sex, and still more sex, then returning to friendship.
Shit. Does that even work? Can you fuck and then be friends again?
I don’t know. I should shut down those wild thoughts. They’re the jackass couch’s fault. Orange blossom’s responsible too, dammit.
But that look in her eyes right now? A hint of mischief mixed with hope. Maybe she’s on the same sex wavelength I am.
Another beat. Another breath, then she adds, “So, the other night while I was watching your game I got this crazy idea.”
Does it involve me stripping you naked and kissing you everywhere till you moan and writhe and beg for my mouth on your pussy?
I’m sure that’s the worst thing possible for our friendship, but my brain is locked in on that. “Hit me up,” I say, my voice rusty with desire.
She sets down the phone as if she wants to turn all her attention my way, but she’s had mine from the second she walked up the block.
“I was thinking this before I read the comments, Carter,” she begins. “Because I really did enjoy that date with you. And it made me realize I don’t know what it’s like to date. For real. When a man actually cares,” she says, and oh shit. I need to stop the sex train since Rachel’s clearly not traveling to Dirty Town. She’s heading to Emotional Shores, and I respect that. I do. “I mean, everything with Edward was a lie. But then with you…it was all so new and kind of wonderful. And I was hoping that you could give me…girlfriend lessons?”