Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
The line seems to take forever, but that’s probably because I spend my time imagining what I want to do first when I’m alone with him. There are those shoulders, and those tatts, but now I’m also noticing how kissable his lips look.
I wonder if he’s good with his tongue.
Back outside, the wind has picked up. When Khalil sees me hugging myself, he puts his arm around me and rubs my goosebumps. “Do you have a jacket?”
“It wasn’t cold out when I went into the store,” I say, snuggling against his warm body. My nipples have gone hard and I’m not wearing a bra, but the top of my sundress is smocked with elastic like a tubetop, so I don’t think it’s obvious.
Conveniently, our cars are parked near each other. A complete gentleman, Khalil opens and closes my door for me before he goes to his car. On our drive over, he’s careful to make sure we don’t get separated.
He drives to a neighborhood I’m not familiar with, down a tree-lined street whose houses are spaced far apart, giving each home a large yard. We make a turn and the houses get larger and larger. They’re mini mansions, essentially, with beautiful architectural features, grand entrances, and perfectly manicured lawns.
Despite the fact that this is a so-called “good” neighborhood, I get a bad feeling. As soon as we park at one of the homes — Khalil in the multi-car garage and me in the circular driveway — I confront him. “By any chance, is this your parents’ house?” I ask, trying to keep the cringiness out of my tone. I purposely don’t hook up with guys who look too young for this very reason, but it seems like I’ve misjudged Khalil.
He grimaces. “Is that a problem?”
My brain scrambles, weighing pros and cons. On the pro side, Khalil is amazingly hot and I’m incredibly horny. “Are they home?” I ask, wincing.
“Yeah, but my bedroom is pretty far from theirs, so we should be okay.”
When I make a move to turn back to my car, he wraps his arms around me, hugging me from behind. “I’m joking! I really had you going there, didn’t I?”
“You don’t live with your parents?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Not for about ten years now.”
“This is your house?” Here I am, proud of my little partial-beach-view apartment, and this man is living in luxury.
“Yes, but I do have housemates.” He quickly adds, “They’re out for the night, though.”
Khalil leads me into his grand house through the garage. The first room we enter is an extremely spacious laundry room, with oversized machines, shelves, cupboards, and even a bench. There’s a shoe rack in a corner filled with a variety of men’s shoes.
How nice it would be to do the boring chore of laundry in a room like this in my own house, rather than having to lug around a basket of my dirty clothes along with a debit card.
Through the laundry room is the kitchen, where my jaw literally drops at the amount of counter space, cupboards, and the size of the refrigerator and sink. Everything is supersized and gives off the appearance of quality.
I can’t help but wonder what Khalil and his friends do for work, but this seems like a rude time to ask, as if I’m trying to gauge how much money he makes. It’s none of my business or concern, anyway. That’s the beauty of one-night stands. It doesn’t matter.
I’m not looking for someone with potential for a future. I’m just looking for some fun.
7
Definitely not my imagination
“Want that coffee now, or would you rather have wine or beer?” Khalil asks.
“A glass of wine sounds great.”
“White or red?” he asks, and it’s then that I notice a special storage area under the kitchen counter, a latticed shelving unit partially filled with bottles.
“Either. I’m not particular.”
Instead of taking a bottle from the rack, he crosses the kitchen to open a glass door on another cabinet and pulls out a bottle of white.
“Are you a big wine drinker?” I ask.
“Not particularly,” he says, getting two glasses down from a cupboard with a special rack that suspends the glasses upside down. “All of this storage was already built in when we bought the house, so we use it, mostly for company. Though I do enjoy a good glass of wine when I read my romance novels,” he adds with a grin.
I smile back at him, though I’m almost starting to wonder whether he’s joking or not.
After handing me my wine, he leads me into the living room, which, though also oversized, has a nice lived-in look, with a big-screen TV as its focus, a fireplace, and comfortable furniture.
On one arm of the couch, there’s a gray sweatshirt, which Khalil flings onto a nearby chair. “Excuse the mess,” he says, as he gestures for me to sit.