Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 112917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
So I’d been an adult. I’d done the mature, expected thing. “See you in the morning!” I’d chirped while sauntering off to…
I spit out a mouthful of paste in the sink and closed my eyes with a groan.
Second-guess. Perseverate. Worry. Obsess.
No wonder Bear didn’t push back when I ended the night. No wonder he didn’t beg to stay. I was a child. I had no idea what I was doing.
I was the very definition of awkward, acting like I’d never freaking kissed a man before.
But the reality was, when Bear’s lips brushed against mine, I’d felt like maybe I hadn’t ever truly kissed a man before. Because this was different. Ryan Galloway’s kiss put everyone else’s to shame.
I let out an embarrassing sound, something between a whimper and a frustrated sigh. For a man coming out of a very long dry spell, Bear kissed like a master of seduction.
After rinsing my mouth and washing my face, I opened the bathroom door, half hoping—okay, full hoping—he’d still be waiting in my bed, ready to laugh with me about my silly behavior.
He wasn’t.
I crawled onto the bed and hurled the big duvet back up to cover me. The scent of Bear lingered on the sheets, and I inhaled like a dental junkie on laughing gas.
My phone buzzed on the side table, and I rolled over to grab it.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t Bear.
Landry
Do I want Don Angie’s Chrysanthemum Salad or the Peanut Chicken Salad from American Bar?
Just get the Pinwheel Lasagne and be done with it. We both know that’s what you really want.
Landry
Can’t. Runway show in Paris next week.
Wait. I thought you were already in Paris?
Landry
No. They changed it again. Fucking assholes. I leave day after tomorrow.
Then those salads aren’t your friend either. Get the Sesame Chicken Salad from Little Beet.
My mouth watered, remembering some of our favorite places in New York. I hated that I’d missed visiting there.
The reminder of the target stamp and subsequent email threat was enough to seriously harsh my post-double-orgasm vibe.
Landry
You slammed with work? You want to meet up for salad? If you get the lasagne, I can have a bite or twelve.
I stared at the screen as I realized I’d never told the guys I was skipping New York.
I’m not in the city. Change of plans. Sorry.
Landry
Are you still in Barlo? Everything okay with Gran?
All is well. I’m in a tiny town in Europe. Long story. But also, I forgot to ask if we’re going to Majestic for Christmas. You still good with that? Dev said we can all stay with them and start settling into our own rooms in his and Tully’s place.
Landry
Europe? How very unspecific. Why?
I’m thinking about getting an extra guitar to leave in Majestic so I can have one there in case I ever visit unannounced.
Landry
Mr. Fine is being Mr. Mysterious. What’s going on?
No mystery. The team is being extra cautious before the next leg of the tour by parking me in the middle of nowhere to rest.
It wasn’t the truth, but it also wasn’t untrue.
Landry
Hmm, mysterious vacation with Grumpy Bear in… Europe.
My stomach tightened at the mention of Bear, but I ignored Landry’s reference to him.
I’m working on a new song. Enjoying the peace and quiet. It’s nice.
Or it had been. Until a literal year’s worth of frustrated longing for my bodyguard had exploded into a giant forest fire of need and want… and overthinking.
Landry
Nice.
I closed my eyes and let out a breath. Leave it to fucking Landry to be provoking.
It’s late here. I’m going to sleep. Get the lasagne. You can afford to enjoy yourself, even if you’re a little bloated on the runway.
I still had no idea why Landry killed himself to stay runway ready when he was already a billionaire, but then again, people would say the same about me if they knew about the money I’d made with the brotherhood.
Landry
Kiss that big, beautiful bodyguard for me.
His message was nothing but a tease. He’d have no way of knowing I’d actually done it and that I hoped (and planned and dreamed) of doing it again as soon as possible.
But still, my cheeks lit on fire, and I scrambled to think of a way to respond that wouldn’t tip my hand.
“You can just… not respond,” I warned myself before forcing myself to toss the phone back on the nightstand.
I blew out a breath and tried to calm down, but memories of Bear—of his possessive mouth, his talented tongue, and his gorgeous bear-sized cock—flooded my brain.
The bed was simultaneously too hot and too cold. Too hard and too soft. Too smooth and also itchy. I’d become freaking Goldilocks… except I was actually wishing for a Bear to come and share my bed.
Even after I turned on my podcast, it took forever for sleep to come, but when it did, it was deep and peaceful.