Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Until Winnie grabbed my face and fused his mouth to mine. It was an exclamation mark of a kiss—an “I can’t believe we did that” and a “Wasn’t that the best thing ever?” sort of kiss.
Eventually, I collapsed beside him, gasping for air. My vision blurred and my limbs felt like spaghetti. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to move for twenty-four hours…or more. I rolled to face Winnie, rescuing the towel I’d brought in earlier. I unfolded it and laid it across the mess on his belly.
“You bit me, you bloody vampire,” I chided without heat, pointing at my shoulder.
Winnie grinned and bared his teeth. “You didn’t know?”
“No, I—”
He dove on top of me, smothering me with a hundred kisses. He stopped to fix my hopelessly smudged and crooked glasses, flashing a radiant grin that lit the room like a firecracker. “I’m a vampire, a werewolf, and a zombie all in one. A chupacabra.”
I laughed. “You know that means ‘goat sucker’ in Spanish, right?”
“Yo hablo español,” he huffed with attitude. “Okay, I don’t speak it well, but I understand it…mostly. And that’s not the point.”
“What is the point?” I smiled fondly, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes.
“I’m fierce. Very fierce.”
“I know you are. I knew it the moment we met.”
Winnie beamed, sidling closer to lay his head on my chest and push his foot between my legs. “Thank you.”
I wrapped a tentative arm around him and kissed his temple. “Is this…cuddling?”
“It is.”
“Hmm. I like it.”
“Me too, Professor. Me too.”
8
WINNIE
Confession: I’d never been with anyone who made me feel truly special.
Okay, so yes, Alistair was a nice guy and under his never-ending supply of beige sweaters—excuse me, jumpers—he had a big heart. He was kind, generous, attentive, extraordinarily smart, and good in bed.
Hold up…he was amazing in bed—the perfect combination of rough, tender, and passionate. He fucked me into the mattress, pounding my ass so hard I saw stars. But he also made love like an artist, worshiping my body with a reverence that made me want to cry.
It wasn’t “making love” in an ooey-gooey boyfriend way. We weren’t those guys, and we never would be. Though I had to admit, I was beginning to feel jealous of the men who’d come before me who’d had the right to ask about his day, hold his hand at dinner, and snuggle up with Alistair at night.
Colin was a fool. He was probably happy as could be—so, good for him. But had he really thought Alistair’s prowess in the bedroom was uninspired? What a fucking idiot.
I slipped into the role of short-term boyfriend without any fanfare. Cuddling, talking about hopes and dreams, arguing over stolen blankets…that was my jam. I was good at companionship and sex. I hadn’t had much practice with long-term relationship-style intimacy, but there was no need to worry about that with Alistair. We could delve into personal territory without feeling exposed.
I told him about my wacky, selectively-traditional Mexican family—the cousin we were sure was involved with a cartel even though he claimed he’d bought his Rolls Royce selling produce at the farmer’s market. And my Italian brother-in-law, Milo, who quoted Goodfellas with alarming accuracy and always seemed to know a guy who could “help speed things along.”
“Jazz met him at the restaurant she worked at. He’d ask to sit in her section with his buddies to talk business with his ‘associates.’ ” I rolled my eyes, swirling my sauvignon blanc. “And he must have had some kind of understanding with the owner, because her appointed section changed whenever Milo walked in the door. I judged hard. I love my sister and I watched The Sopranos, damn it. But guess what?”
“She loves him and she’s happy?” Alistair offered, slathering butter on a piece of warm, crusty bread.
“Yep. They have two kids, a gorgeous house in Bel Air, and by choice, Jazz hasn’t worked in a decade. By all accounts, Milo is a doting husband and father, but what Jazz really loves is that he’s good to our parents and grandparents. And me. My family knows how to put on the super macho façade, but in reality, we’re very accepting. If Milo had been a jerk to me, he wouldn’t have lasted a day with Jazz. He was always cool, though.”
“That’s nice.”
I pointed my wineglass at him and took a sip. “It is. I’m gay, no one cares. My sister’s married to the mob, which is way more concerning, but hey, we love her. It makes for interesting holidays and family vacays. Blended Italian and Mexican chaos with the best food ever.”
“Sounds like you’re very close,” he commented with a smile.
I nodded. “Are you close with your family?”
Alistair shrugged as he handed me a slice of buttered bread. “Reasonably so.”
“What does that mean?”
“We get along well enough, but I’m the odd one out, you might say.”