Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 200837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1004(@200wpm)___ 803(@250wpm)___ 669(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 200837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1004(@200wpm)___ 803(@250wpm)___ 669(@300wpm)
“You mean blame.”
“What?”
“You’re confusing credit with blame.”
I glance up just in time to catch her reaction. It’s that crinkled face she likes to make. “Who cares?”
“Language is a precise thing—”
“Oh, my god. Shut up.” When I start laughing, she leans back in the chair. Angry now. “Why are you being like this?”
Laces undone, I shrug and stand up and walk over to the door, kicking my boots off. When I turn back to her, she’s standing at the foot of the bed. I have a flash of memory of her here. From yesterday when she was still wearing that slutty dress. Which actually wasn’t even all that revealing—her stomach was showing, and the dress was hanging very low on her hips, so it was a lot of stomach, and her shoulders were bare, but the dress wasn’t sleeveless. It was that off-the-shoulder kind that gets pulled down to look sexier.
The whole thing was alluring, sure. But it looked a little traditional too. Which makes sense if she really does come from a city the way she describes.
Right now, though, dressed like this—dressed in these clothes I got for her—she reminds me of Myra. I never slept with Myra. Not for lack of trying, but she was really into rules and the number one rule of a go-team crew is no sex. And thinking about that suddenly has me thinking about this—“How many, Clara?”
“How many what?”
“Let me guess. Seven?”
“Seven what? I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“How many times do you make a man take you out before you sleep with him?”
Her face goes bright red. “What?”
“I would just like to adjust my expectations accordingly.” My grin is wild.
Her reaction is shock. She sputters for a moment, trying to find the right words to respond. “Because you think I want to have sex with you?”
“Don’t ya?”
“Well…”
She kinda looks me over here. Not deliberately, but she can’t help it, and it’s all kinda funny.
So I smile pretty big. “Ya do, don’t ya?”
She sighs, then wipes a hand through the air like she’s pushing all these thoughts out of her mind. “I’m not talking about this.”
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t get to control all the conversations, that’s why. I get a say in them too. And it’s all fine and good if you expect truth out of me at all times, but that doesn’t give you the right to ask any question you want. Nor does it oblige me to answer.”
“It’s more than seven, isn’t it?”
She shakes her head, turns on her heel, then walks into the kitchen, disappearing into the bathroom. There’s only a curtain, no door, so I just keep going. “Please tell me it’s not more than ten. If so, we could double up on the dates, right? Count breakfast, lunch, and dinner as separate occasions?”
“I’m not having this discussion.”
“Why though? Because it’s more than ten? If it’s more than ten, Clara, we need to talk about the meaning of the word ‘haughty.’ Because you are absolutely the definition of that word if you demand more than ten dates before—”
She pushes the bathroom curtain to the side with a dramatic swish of fabric and comes back out wearing nothing but the t-shirt. I’m talkin’ bare feet and bare legs. She walks over to the foot stool and places her folded-up pants on top of it, flashing her fuckin’ ass at me—which is covered in the cutest fuckin’ lacy little panties I’ve ever laid eyes on. The entire back of her bum is covered in ruffles. It’s the kind of fancy, over-the-top underwear you put on a child. A child going to a wedding or something. This is not the kind of underwear I’ve ever seen on a grown woman.
I cover my mouth, trying not to laugh out loud, but though it is stifled, it still comes out.
She whirls around, angry again. “What are you laughing about now?”
“What the hell is on your ass?”
“What?” She twists her neck, looking over her shoulder, trying to see her own ass. “What are you talking about?”
“What is up with that underwear?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Oh, my god. Just go to bed or something. You’re being obnoxious.”
“Is that the kind of underwear women wear where you come from?”
She is so done with me. “I was being Extracted, Tyse. I was dressed up, OK? This is the lingerie they gave me for the occasion. And”—she twists, peeking at her ass again—“it’s… I dunno. Just normal underwear for Spark Maidens. If you don’t like them, don’t look at them.”
“Oh, I never said I didn’t like them.”
Her eyes find mine and she presses her lips together. “I’m not sleeping with you.”
“Because it’s more than ten, isn’t it?”
“I don’t even understand what you’re talking about there. Seven. Ten. Whatever.”
“How many dates did what’s-his-name take you on before you slept with him?”