Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
“Thanks very much,” she retorts as she tries to pull away.
“Sweet and ripe and so fucking delicious. Your tits are a perfect handful. That I get to stick my cock between them and fuck them is both an honor and a privilege.”
“You actually like that?” she asks, canting her head.
“What’s not to like? The visual is insane, and when you suck the head—”
“I bet I look like I have a double chin.”
“You look fantastic, and your tits are phenomenal whether I’m fucking them or not.”
“Have you guys had time to decide?” Lena suddenly appears by my side.
“My tits are phenomenal.”
“I’m s-sorry?” the poor server stutters.
“My tips are phenomenal,” Lavender says without missing a beat. “I give really good tips.”
“Really good,” I agree with a grin.
“For good service,” Lavender adds.
“Cool.” The woman nods, surely not convinced
“Anyway.” Lavender flips over the paper menu, scanning it quickly. “He’s having the Caesar salad with extra chicken. And I’ll have the steak sandwich with caramelized onions.”
“Absolutely. Can I get you anything to drink?”
“A couple of flat whites, please. One with lactose-free milk. Dairy plays havoc with my husband’s IBS.”
“What?” My answer seems more laughter than word.
“You know. Those terrible noises you make. And don’t get me started on the smell.”
“Right. Well. I’ll just bring you some water—” poor Lena adds, beginning to step backward.
“Honestly, Lena. Marriage takes all the mystery out of a relationship.”
“—for the table.” She turns, making her escape.
“That was payback,” Lavender says as the door to the café chimes closed.
“I don’t care if she thinks I get the shits from dairy.” Kicking my feet out under the table, I lean back and fold my arms across my chest.
“This is a prime example of why no woman wants a boyfriend hotter than them,” she says as though she isn’t listening. “Lena doesn’t care if you fart like a racehorse. She still wants you.”
“So women chase good-looking men, but they don’t want to date them?”
“Who’s been chasing you?” she snaps.
“You don’t need to worry. You don’t have a good-looking boyfriend. You have a good-looking husband.”
“What? Why are you looking at me all smug?”
I’m just enjoying your display of ownership.” I might not know what IBS feels like, but my insides feel like goo when she’s being jealous.
“Ownership? So you’re likening yourself to a dog now.”
“Woof. Women are complicated. Make him good looking but not too good looking. Tall but not too tall. Meanwhile, every man and his inner dog just wants a woman to claim him.”
“A woman with melons like Lena’s maybe?”
“If you don’t knock that off, I’m gonna take you back to your office and fuck you against those rice paper walls.”
“You think that’s a deterrent?”
“No, I think you’re deflecting because you don’t want to deal with how you feel about meeting your brother.”
“Don’t psychoanalyze me. Psycho,” she adds the playful insult for good measure.
“Is it me? Business is going well, so maybe you’re worried about us meeting?”
“How can that be true? I took you to my family home within forty-eight hours of meeting you.”
“Back then, you would’ve been happy if they’d turned on me. You tried pretty hard yourself.”
“I can’t help it if sometimes I want to wrap my hands around your neck. And sometimes your throat.”
“It’s okay, you know. I can take it. Take whatever you’re feeling right now.”
She blows out a breath like she’s finally giving in. “I’m sure Whit will be so glad to have me off his hands.”
“I doubt that’s true. I’m sure your brother just wants the best for you.”
“Whit is…well, he’s great, but don’t tell anyone I said that. He’s sound, you know? Dependable. He just has really high standards. Much higher than mine.”
I bite my tongue from answering ouch.
“I always feel like such an idiot next to him because he’s so clever. Of course, I think about the stuff that went on with Julian. I behaved so badly afterward. I still have all this residual cringe.”
“You were sexually assaulted,” I growl, tightening my hold on her hand as though I could get her to understand the strength of my feelings for her simply by my hold. “Your behavior was a trauma response. If he knew—”
“But he won’t ever know. None of them will. I can cope with their derision but not with their pity. I’m not going to cause them regret because they would. They’d feel responsible, and they’re not. I’m not going to hurt them. Raif?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Can you stop squeezing my hand?”
“Sorry.” I loosen but don’t let go, rubbing her fingers instead.
“You must’ve gone to Polly Whittington's school of hand squeezing.”
My fucking heart—her concern for others feels like an arrow through it. I want to stand at the top of The Shard and shout to the heavens how fucking unfair it is that she suffers so others don’t. I want to yell it in the faces of those who love her, tell them of the ways they’ve failed her, though I know it’s not truly their fault.