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“Someone give this guy a medal,” I reply sarcastically, but he scoots his stool closer to me.
“You’re a gold medal, baby.”
Someone whistles loudly, and I look up. Britt zeroes in on me, looks to Billy, then back to me. I mouth it’s okay to her and she winks.
“I’m going to record all your ridiculous lines for my books.”
He furrows his brows. “Books?”
“You didn’t know?” When he continues to stare with a confused look, I say, “I’m a published romance author.”
“Get the fuck outta here!” he crows. “You’re a smut writer!?”
“How do you know about smut writers?” I ask blandly, refusing to be easily impressed by him.
“Oh, girl. I know what’s up.” He moves in closer and with that Casanova smirk shining bright across his face, he says, “I read. You all think I’m illiterate, but I love those stories. I love seeing what women read, what they want. A bestseller in smut? It makes things easier for the men. If they’d only pay attention. Stupid fools don’t, though. And it finds them alone.” He pauses. “Want to know a secret?”
“Of course.”
“I’ve got a fantasy where I’m lying in bed with my girl and I’m reading to her.”
Remembering our night together, I picture the books on the shelves. I remember him asking what I like to read and him acknowledging the same. I should've given it more attention, but being withhim was my priority, and I didn’t give the titles on the shelf any real attention.
“Well, we’re not just lying together. I want her on top, riding me slowly while I read not only the dirty parts, but the sweet ones, too. I want our minds and bodies to connect through the words. Let's make a memory that brings us back to that special moment when we read it again, right?”
Jesus Christ.
I want to hold on to everything he said to me, because it would make a hell of a story. This man blows me away each time he opens up to me. And he also has me so wet right now, I’m going to need to replay this memory later tonight. Twice.
I gulp my drink, finishing it completely and when I place it on the table and look at him, he’s smirking. “Want me to read to you, Ad?”
I raise a brow. This guy is something else. Instead of making me feel embarrassed about what I do, he embraces it. He turns it into something that’s meant for us only.
Steve knows I write and he thought it’s a waste of time, something he loved to tell me so, too, every chance he got. I'm aware of people's opinions and what they've said about me, and Steve's lack of defense didn’t help.
Maybe I can get my happily ever after, after all.
“Go out with me, Adley.”
I let out a laugh. “Bill! I’m-”
“You’re not.”
“I’m not what?”
“Taken.” He takes my hand, stroking my empty ring finger. I watch his long lean fingers that have touched my body. Hell, been inside me, caress the finger that signifies a new beginning for me.
“I don’t want to be married.”
“Well thank fuck, because he doesn’t deserve you.”
“Not ever, Bill.” I whisper the words, but with confidence.
He makes a face. “You never want to get married?”
Shaking my head, I watch him. I can see he’s struggling to hold on to what’s happening, and I know this will probably be anotherconversation, another moment in time, that he won’t recall, while I’ll replay it over and over.
“I don’t think anyone expects me to get married.” He drops his eyes from me and drops my hand. “I’d like to, though. One day.”
