Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
I can’t say anything else because the shower is turned on me, and I’m standing under it. I should have known that a shower with him wasn’t just a shower but more. He grabs the bar of soap and lathers me from head to toe. He washes me down before rinsing me off and then sucking my nipple while he finger-fucks me to another orgasm. My hands grip his cock at the same time, and when he’s about to come, I get down on my knees and swallow everything he has.
I’m wrapped in a towel as I walk out of the bathroom and stop when I see her picture by the bed. My neck suddenly burns, and I have to look away from her smiling face. Charlie steps out and puts his hands on my hips. “What’s wrong?” I shake my head and try not to let him see that I’m a little flustered, or I’m one second away from tears.
“I’m good.” I step out of his touch. “I just have to get going.”
I can feel him staring at me as I walk around his room and gather my things. I slide my panties on and then my bra before letting the towel fall away. “You’re lying to me,” he accuses, and I look at him, standing in the middle of his bedroom with a towel around his waist, hanging low on his hips. His chest still has a couple of droplets of water from his hair.
My eyes go to the bite mark. “I’m not lying. I have to go and you have to go, and I’d like to get out of here before people see my car still here.” I look away from him to grab my shirt.
“We had dinner last night together,” he reminds me, and I slip my skirt on. “Everyone is already talking about us.” I look at him. “Does it bother you?”
“Yes,” I answer him honestly, “it bothers me. I don’t want you caught up in this shit with the Cartwrights.”
“I already told you I don’t give a shit about that.” He turns and steps to his walk-in closet that I saw on the way out. My eyes avoid looking at the bedside table, but I can’t help it. I look at her picture and mouth, “Sorry,” to her.
“I’m going to go.” I turn and see that he’s already come back in the room, and he’s caught me looking at her picture. “Thanks for last night.” I almost run out of the room, going to get my boots and sitting down as I put them on. He walks out of the bedroom wearing jeans and a T-shirt.
“Autumn,” he calls my name, so I look up at him and fake smile, “it’s—”
He doesn’t get to say anything more because the phone rings from his bedroom, giving me a chance to get up. “I’ll let myself out,” I say. “You need to get your phone.” I walk out, looking over my shoulder at him. I want to say, “See you later,” but I don’t. I just take one more look at him before I grab my purse and get the hell out of here. Only when I’ve made my way away from his house and stop, my head hitting the steering wheel, do I let the air I’ve been holding out. “Well, add that to the list of why I’m the shittiest friend ever.”
I think of going straight to work but then think about walking in wearing the same thing I did last night and make my way back home. “Nothing says walk of shame like going to work with the same clothes on,” I mumble as I walk into my house, going to my bedroom and picking out my tight, light-blue jeans, a white T-shirt, and a pair of white runners. After putting on a little bit of mascara and walking out the door, I head to work. I arrive at the same time as Brady who looks at me. “You better be going to get coffee.”
“Late night?” I ask and he glares at me.
“All this tasting menu shit has everyone talking about it. We got five different reservations for tonight. And the back room is reserved for those guys who bought cases to take home; they are coming with friends.”
I hold up my hand. “High five.”
“I don’t see any coffee in that hand,” he mumbles. “Get me coffee and I might high-five you.”
“You got it.” I turn and walk toward the bakery, pulling open the door and stepping in, coming face-to-face with Charlie’s parents.
“Oh my goodness,” his mother, Willow, says when she looks over her shoulder at me. “I can’t believe my eyes.” She comes over to me, not giving me a chance to do anything when she takes me in her arms. “Look at you.” She lets me go and holds my arms. “Quinn.” She looks at her husband. “It’s Autumn.”