“With the way you’re blushing again, I have to know what’s on that list,” he says as we pull into Levi’s driveway.
“Well, thanks for the afternoon. I had a lot of fun. I’ll see you around,” I spit out a mile a minute as I unclip my seat belt and unlatch the passenger door.
“Not so quick there,” Ian says as he grabs my arm, laughing. “With the look on your face and the fire my question lit under you, I can only assume it’s something of the R-rated nature, knowing Lacey.”
“No, it’s not,” I lie, feeling my face get hotter, if that’s even possible, which just makes him laugh even more. Taking my chance, I push open the door and jump out saying “thanks” one last time.
Before I can get to the front door, Ian rolls down his window and yells, “I will find out what is on that list, Hannah!”
“No you won’t!” I yell back, laughing as I open the front door, only to find Levi standing there with a worried look on his face.
“So, how was your date?” he asks.
“It wasn’t a date, but it was fun. I forgot how nice it was to relax and have fun. Plus, he had my favorite coffee waiting for me in the truck. How cute is that?”
“So, are you going on a second date?”
“Levi, that wasn’t a date. I doubt he’s gonna want to hang out with me one-on-one again, but I’m sure I’ll see him around since he is your best friend,” I say, giving him a look that hopefully says back off. “Anyway, how was your day? Hang out with Lacey any?” I continue, trying to change the subject.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t get the memo and follows me into the kitchen. “If that wasn’t a date why are you blushing so hard and trying to change the subject?”
“Levi, first off, I’m a grown woman, I can blush if I want to. And secondly, I’m twenty-nine. That wasn’t a date. He’s twenty-three. He’s young, rich, and yes he’s attractive, but I highly, highly doubt he wants to date a twenty-nine-year-old when he could have any little puck bunny he wants. He just sees meas his best friend’s down-on-her-luck roommate. Trust me. I remember what it was like to be twenty-three and free. I’ll admit, six years isn’t much, but early twenties and late twenties are lightyears apart,” I say with finality as I make my way to my room dismissing the conversation.
“You couldn’t be more wrong,” he says after me.
Pretending I didn’t hear him, I make my way to my bedroom, and take off my clothes to get into a nice hot shower to try to relax my muscles. Ian was right, I will be sore tomorrow.
Raising my arms up to slip out of my t-shirt, a groan leaves my mouth. I just got home and I’m already sore. Tomorrow is going to be a long day. But that’s the excuse I need to stay home in my sweat pants and work on my book. My characters and chapters are all planned out, so I can actually start writing. Yes, that’s what I’ll do tomorrow, spend the day relaxing and writing.
Finally getting under the hot spray of the shower after adding a eucalyptus steamer to really get my muscles to relax, my mind wanders back to what Levi said:You couldn’t be more wrong.
What did he mean by that? Does Ian think that was a date? Did he say anything about me to Levi? That wasn’t a date.He didn’t ask you out on a date, Hannah, he was just being nice.
I wouldn’t mind going out on a date with him,I think as I lather up my hair, but I shouldn’t. I need to be securely put together before risking getting my heart broken again.
Who wouldn’t want to go out with a guy like that, I think to myself. I let my mind wander back to the deep V I saw peeking out from under his shirt as he saddled up the horses and the way his eyes darkened as he placed the cowboy hat on my head. It’s more than just the way he looks though. It’s the way he clearly loves and adores his little sister. It’s the way he found out my favorite coffee. It’s the way he asked Lacey to show us the constellations while sitting by the campfire, knowing she loves nothing more than talking about stars. It’s the way he alwaysmakes everyone around him feel seen. It’s also the big-dick energy he gives off, he walks with such confidence and purpose that I can’t seem to ever keep my eyes off of him when we’re in the same room.
And I’m pretty sure I caught him staring at my ass when we walked along the creek where we had lunch. Not that I minded. I know I did my fair share of looking, that’s for sure.
But who wouldn’t, the guy looks like sex on legs, and you just know he knows what he’s doing between the sheets.I bet he’s a giver, I think to myself as I let my fingertips brush lower and lower. Just thinking about him has me all hot and bothered and he’s not even here; he hasn’t even made a move on me really. Other than light, friendly, touches, he hasn’t touched me or shown me any kind of attention other than platonic attention.
Against my better judgement I let my fingers move even lower, feeling just how worked up the simple thought of him has gotten me. I picture him in the shower with me, on his knees, as I circle my clit, imagining it’s his tongue. Moaning as I slump against the cool shower wall, I keep teasing myself, imagining his fingers and mouth all over me in the shower, knowing his touch would be soft but dominating. As my other hand creeps up to pull at my nipple, I pinch my clit imagining his lips suctioning around it, instantly making me come so hard I see stars.
“Jesus Christ,” I whisper a few minutes after. I can’t remember ever coming so hard . . . and I was by myself.
Laughing to myself as I shake my head, I wash off and shut off the water. If it was that good by myself, imagine how good it would be with him actually in the shower on his knees for me.
“Not gonna happen,” I whisper, almost sad that it would never be an actual outcome. Because like it or not, I am attracted to the guy, who wouldn’t be? But I’m old enough and have lived enough to know that guys like him don’t go for girls like me. Never have and never will.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I tell myself, “That was a one time slip. You’re never doing that while thinking of him again.”
Later that night as I lie in bed reading, my phone buzzes on my bedside table. Looking at the time on my kindle I noticed it’s almost 10 p.m. Who the hell is texting me at ten on a Tuesday?
Grabbing my phone, I see it’s an unknown number.
Unknown:
Hey, it’s Ian.
