Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 97684 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97684 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
But it still tastes like safety.
Like comfort.
Like home.
At the moment, I need that. I need a space that's mine where I can lose myself in a book, where I can breathe without anyone else's expectations.
For now…
I'm going to have to make do with tea. And listening to Lorde during the flight. It's far from a consolation prize. I love music as much as I love reading or writing. It has the same appeal. It commands every one of my senses. Dissolves all my thoughts, my walls, my inhibitions.
It just feels good.
God, I wish it was easier to hold on to that. To find things that are just good. Period. End of sentence.
I take another sip. Lean back in my seat. Smooth my skirt.
I'm sure Luna thinks my wrap dress isn't cute or sexy enough, but I'm spending the next three hours on a plane. I look pretty good, considering.
It's not too crowded at the gate. Not yet. The people here are quiet. Reading, sipping coffee from take-out cups, typing on their laptops.
The sun—it's already bright, even this early—falls over the blue carpets and the cheap vinyl chairs.
Over checkered blue sneakers. Long jeans. Narrow hips. A bright muscle tank from one of those surf/skate shops.
Holden's smile.
He holds up his navy hoodie—the one he wears all winter—and offers it to me. "Oliver said you'd need this."
It is cold in here—the air-conditioning is so high—and the plane will be worse. Why is it always freezing in planes? I'd say it's a conspiracy to sell blankets if airlines actually sold blankets. "He said I'd need your hoodie?"
"He said something about making sure you'd packed a sweater. But I thought this would be more fun." His fingers brush my neck as he drapes the hoodie over my shoulders. "Looks good on you."
"Oh?" I motion to the red and white floral print of my wrap dress. "Does it match?"
"Patriotic." He sits next to me. Offers me a sip of his milky drink.
I take a long sip. It's an iced chai. Not what I expect him to drink. Incredibly sweet. Way too sweet for me. "Thanks."
"What?"
"You drink chai?"
"You do too." He motions to my tea.
"It's English breakfast."
"Chai means tea."
My lips curl into a smile. "You're trying to out tea me?"
"Trying?" He turns his body toward mine. "My sister is obsessed with tea. And she spent nine months limited to two a day. It's all she talked about." His bright eyes light up. Well, more than usual. He loves his family. His sister. His niece—
God, she's so cute. I've only seen pictures, but there's something about those giant eyes. I don't even like babies and I still want to protect her.
"She knows a lot." I take a long sip of English breakfast. Let out a low sigh. It tastes so good. With him here, I feel it more. I can taste every note of caramel.
"She'd die if she saw me drinking this." He taps his iced chai. "It comes from a syrup."
"I know."
"She thinks it's sacrilege."
It kinda is. "But you?"
"It's not great. But I don't have her here to make me a fresh chai."
"Doesn't she live with Chase?"
He nods true. "I make them too."
"Really?" That's hard to imagine.
"You doubt me?" His voice lifts to a teasing tone. Well, a more teasing tone. "You think a guy like me isn't capable of fixing a fine chai latte?"
"Well." I try to match his tone. To tease back. There's something about Holden. He makes me feel good. He makes me forget all the stuff racing around my brain. Even with my heart thudding and my stomach fluttering, I just… I want to be around him. To drink up his smile. To watch joy fill his eyes. "I guess you'll have to show me."
"Oh?"
"When we get in."
"When we land and it's eighty degrees, you'll want a hot chai?"
"You can't do iced?"
His smile widens. "Demanding."
"You're the one insisting on your mastery."
He nods true enough. "And you're in a sweater now."
"You gave me this."
"You didn't take it off."
Because it smells like his soap. Not because… Okay, a little because it's cold. And I can't tell him I'm wearing it because it smells like his soap.
God it smells good.
He smells good.
How can he always smell so good?
"I'll try it hot first," I say. "Tea is better hot."
"It is."
"Then why are you drinking that sugary monstrosity?"
"You're a snob?"
"A little."
"A lot." He laughs. "I like it."
My heart thuds against my chest. It doesn't hear I like it. It hears I like you. It jumps to all sorts of conclusions. I love you. Please marry me. But first, take off your clothes, I want to make love to you.
God, even in my head, my dirty talk is cheesy.
Holden is so smooth. And sexy. He probably dirty talks like a pro.
God, just the thought of him laying me down and whispering in my ear.