Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
These days, I couldn’t even imagine going to bed without knowing he’d either join me soon or he was already there. Because of his job, and mine, we rarely crashed at the same time, and maybe that was for the best. I’d probably throw myself at him after a round of lazy pillow talk about the latest game or…fucking anything.
“Have you been going through my phone, bright spot?”
Oh shit.
I cleared my throat, and he eased back. Thank fuck, no hostility in his gaze. More of a cocked brow daring me to lie to him—and some wry amusement.
“What gave you that idea?” I asked innocently.
He huffed and flicked a glance at the food. “Three people close to me know I love toaster waffles with whipped cream and strawberry preserves, and one of them asked me just yesterday if I had something going on with you.”
Goddammit, Angie.
Was nothing sacred anymore?
“If it makes you feel any better, I only checked your contacts,” I said. “And just your old burner, not the work phone where you might actually keep dating apps. I think I deserve some praise for not going through that.”
At least he cracked a grin and not my skull.
“You think stroking my ego with made-up jealousy is going to derail me?”
“I’m certainly going to try,” I replied.
He shook his head in amusement and grabbed his coffee. “You’re the one with dating apps, kid. Not me.”
Whew. It was nice to have that confirmed.
“Not anymore.” I’d deleted them all. “I haven’t been with anyone since you fucked me six ways to Sunday in January.”
How was that for openness and honesty?
His coffee went down with an audible swallow, and he stared at the gifts. Kinda hard, too, like he was forcing himself to fix his attention there.
“I didn’t know birthdays involved torture in your family,” he said quietly. “Can we eat before I flip my shit?”
Oh, we were getting somewhere.
“Of course.” I stroked his thigh a little. “It’s your day. Open your gifts too. And don’t forget to make a wish when you blow out the candles.”
He released a breath and picked up his plate. Then he blew out the candles, and I could only wish his wish included me somehow. In a good way.
I had patience for the serious stuff, like our future together, but I absolutely hoped we could upgrade our dumbass friendship to include some benefits. Stat.
He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t affected. Tension rolled off him as he bit into his waffle, and he side-eyed me with a bit of whipped cream on his upper lip.
It would be so easy to lean in and lick—
He cleared his throat and tipped his waffle at the gifts. “Which one do I start with, and why are there so many?”
Right. “Three isn’t many, and start with the smallest.” I began brushing my fingers up and down his thigh.
Perfect moment to realize he wasn’t wearing a tee. He usually slept in one, which was dumb. We should sleep naked and closer to the center of the bed.
He grabbed the smallest gift, and his mouth twitched with humor. Yeah, yeah, yuk it up. My gift-wrapping skills were flawless.
He had to tear it up a little, not unlike I wanted him to do with my ass.
Then he smiled when he saw it was a travel mug. He’d bitched at having to buy coffee when he was out working, and I was with him. Six or seven bucks for coffee? Fucking hell. It annoyed me every time, because you weren’t always close to a McDonald’s where you could get a decent cup at a more reasonable price. Dunkin’ worked occasionally too.
“This is perfect, Trace. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I leaned closer and rested my chin on his shoulder. “Medium-sized next.”
He took another deep breath and reached for the gift.
I shifted my hand to his back instead, and I ran my fingertips along his spine.
That earned me a shiver.
He was going to like this present too. I knew he would. Because for every day that passed, shit just got clearer and clearer for me. We were so similar. We complained about the same things, had the same priorities, and shared the same interests.
It was a set with three types of lunch boxes, one small, one large, one for soup. Good brand too, that promised to keep shit warm for a few hours, at least.
He exhaled and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “You’re something else, you know that?”
So was he.
I kissed his shoulder.
We gotta happen, baby.
“Next present,” I murmured.
I peered down as goose bumps appeared along his bicep, and he went for the last gift. Well, second to last, but I wasn’t sure I needed to offer the last one. If I played my cards right, he’d take it.
“This is a monster gift.” His tone held curiosity, so I gave him a bit of space to focus on it. Because it was a good gift. The guy at the store said it was one of the best.