Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
I’m torn between torturing him as much as possible and trying to keep my distance.
Doing the right thing has never really appealed to me, so I don’t hesitate to step in close to him. He doesn’t freeze or flinch when I press my side to his. He wraps his arms around my shoulder as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
This couldn’t happen at the house. After the rejection when I kissed him a couple of days ago, I don’t know that I’ll ever try it again, but this is expected of us in public.
He’s the one who brought us to a store that he claims is frequented by paps looking for footage of celebrities.
“See someone?” he asks, his voice low, eyes still on the disgusting mango-filled granola.
“A woman with her phone pointed at us,” I lie, letting my hand press to his lower belly.
It’s easy to feel the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his button-down shirt, and I press a little more, tracing my finger over the bumps and ridges of his abdomen.
He curls away a little, laughter bubbling out of his mouth.
“Ticklish,” he says, a wide grin on his face when I get the courage to look up at him. “Don’t get any wild ideas.”
He must see the fire in my eyes at his news.
“Wild ideas? Like tying you to my bed and running a feather over these glorious muscles.”
His smile fades, and it’s like a splash of cold water to my face.
His eyes dart between mine for a long moment before he speaks, and when he does, he leans in close, his lips practically glued to my ear.
“You’d have to catch me first.”
And then he steps away, placing the granola back on the shelf before grabbing the shopping cart’s handle and pushing it away.
“Don’t tempt me,” I mutter, completely fine with watching his tight ass move with each sure step.
“I have to say I’m a little disappointed.”
Instead of just walking away like my first instinct tells me to, I turn around to face the woman who just spoke.
“Is that right?”
She gives me a soft smile, not the sneer I was expecting.
“Why is that?”
“I saw you a few aisles over alone.”
That must’ve been when Brooks walked back to the front of the store to switch out the small handheld basket for the full-sized cart when he realized we needed more room.
“Then I saw that man join you.” She lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I was hoping you were single.”
I cock an eyebrow at her, a smile threatening to play on my own lips. What I thought was going to be some snide remark about two men being disgusting for showing PDA is turning into this little old lady shooting her shot.
As I open my mouth to commend her for her courage, she speaks first.
“I was thinking you’re my grandson’s type.”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing.
“But then I saw just how in love the two of you are.” Her nose scrunches up. “So sorry.”
“For thinking I was his type?”
“For sneaking a picture of you while you were alone and sending it to him.”
A laugh bubbles out of my throat. I feel the warmth of Brooks as he walks up and places that big fucking hand of his right on my back.
“What’s going on?” he asks, checking in, trying to determine whether I need to be rescued.
“Oh gosh, now I’m really embarrassed,” the woman says, her wrinkled face turning pink.
“She was just telling me that I’m her grandson’s type.”
Some of the tension in Brooks’s shoulders fall away. “Is that so?”
Her phone chimes in her hand, and we just stand there, watching her fumble with the thing.
“Hello?” she says, lifting it to her ear with her eyes still on us. “I had no idea, dear. I don’t think that’s true. He seems like a regular guy to me.”
The tension Brooks had now begins to fill my body.
My grandson, the woman mouths as she continues to listen. “I will not, young man.”
“We should go,” Brooks urges.
I shake my head, either curious or a glutton for punishment because I’m determined to stick around and find out just what her grandson said about me.
“I’m so sorry about that,” the lady apologizes as she shoves her phone into her rather large purse.
“What did he ask you to do?” I demand, doing my best to keep my tone neutral.
“I couldn’t,” she says, waving her hand to dismiss the idea.
“Call me curious,” I prod.
“At first, he wanted me to give you his phone number.” Her eyes lift to Brooks apologetically. “And when I refused, he asked for a selfie instead. You’re a rock star?”
“He is,” Brooks says, pushing at my back so I step closer to her.
“I don’t mind a selfie,” I tell her, and she doesn’t waste a second pulling out her phone.