Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 92070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
That's what we always do. That's normal. It should feel normal too. It shouldn't feel like he's asking me to do a strip tease.
He's not.
This is friendly advice. Friendly advice designed to help me score another man.
Dare makes a show of closing his eyes and putting his hands over them.
I stand and move to the closet. Most of my summer clothes are sitting in my suitcase, in need of a wash, but I left a few promising items here.
High-waist jeans I can pair with a white crop top or a red wrap top.
A breezy white sundress.
A casual pair of shorts and a tank.
And a snug sheath with a square neckline, a high slit, and a breathable fabric.
The sexiest thing here… well, besides the underwear.
The dress I bought as a homework assignment from my therapist. Something that makes me feel sexy.
And it does, really.
And that feels good.
But there's a place where it feels dangerous too. Because what if that attracts the wrong person?
Because it's too close to the dress I was wearing when I—
A different shape, sure, but the same color.
And for all my improved ability to accentuate my body without shame, I just—
I'm not there, yet.
"What are you thinking about?" I ask for a distraction.
"Boobs."
"Really?"
He shakes his head. "This is going to distract you."
Perfect. I need a distraction. "Tell me anyway."
He negotiates. "Pick an outfit. Then I'll tell you."
"Fine." I grab the jeans and the crop top. There. No "easy access" but a good amount of boob. Let's be honest, I'm not ready for "easy access." "Picked. Your turn."
"I was thinking about Archie." His voice is matter-of-fact, though it's sometimes hard to tell with Dare's deadpan affect, as if this is a typical subject. As if we're planning dinner, not seduction. "We need to flirt with him."
"We?" I shift out of my pajamas. I feel the air-conditioning on my skin. The sun streaming through the window. The possibility of someone's stare.
Dare's stare.
My cheeks flush. My chest too. It's a good thing he's not looking at me, because I'm turning a very unattractive shade of red.
"Yeah, we," he says. "You need help."
I take a deep breath and force my thoughts to our mission. "He's going to think we're after a threesome."
"Oh? You think he'd be into it?"
"Dare!"
He chuckles.
My cheeks flare. He's picturing it, isn't he? And now I'm picturing it. Dare in my bedroom, in only his jeans, pulling me onto his lap and telling Archie to watch while he demonstrates proper technique.
Shit. I'm supposed to put these clothes on. Not think myself into needing a new pair of panties.
But this is progress. I'm picturing a high-risk sexual situation—a threesome—and I'm not freaking out.
Okay, maybe it's not ideal that I'm picturing myself naked in my best friend's lap, but it's, uh—
It's a very vivid image.
And that means something.
I'm healing.
Or I'm insane.
Maybe both. Probably both.
I slide into the jeans. Which only makes me feel more exposed. There is something erotic about wearing only jeans. As if I'm inviting him to touch me.
I want to stand here and luxuriate in it. Because he's here. Because he's between me and the rest of the world, and I know no one can get past him to hurt me.
But I can't. Because we can't. I need to focus. "One guy at a time is plenty."
"Work up to it, yeah."
"How'd you know?" I tease. I don my bra and wrap top and slide into my espadrilles (I know, I know, I'm a study abroad cliché, but they really are comfortable). "Done. But I don't need approval. I need mascara and lipstick." Maybe brow pencil and a little under-eye concealer to make it less obvious I've been awake for twenty-two of the last twenty-four hours.
"Confidence is good." He opens his eyes, meets me in front of the dresser, gives me a long, slow once-over. "Val—"
"Good?"
"Great."
"Thanks."
His eyes linger on my chest. "But you're right. Lipstick."
I flip him off.
He smiles. "Men are simple creatures. They see lipstick. They think I wonder how that tastes."
"Men can't tell if you're wearing lipstick."
"Not if it's something neutral, sure. But a bright red? A dark wine? You'd look hot in raspberry."
Does he actually think about this? "Where did you get this?"
"Luna."
The gorgeous woman with silver hair. My stomach flip-flops. My veins surge. She's dating someone else, but she's talking to him all the time. She's his friend. She's the one in his life every day.
That used to be my role.
I miss it.
"You two are close?" I ask.
"Yeah, she's annoying." He shakes his head. "You want her advice too?"
"What time is it in California?"
"Late enough she's awake," he says.
"I'm good."
He nods smart choice. "Do whatever feels natural for you."
"I know."
"The guy's probably seen you in your glasses."
"I look cute in my glasses."
"You look hot in your glasses."
My cheeks flame. It's a normal compliment for him, but it feels more intense somehow.