Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 49005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 245(@200wpm)___ 196(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 245(@200wpm)___ 196(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
Felix gives me a quick peck of thanks, too, and both men immediately put the scarves on and wear them the rest of the evening.
Later, on my front porch, when we’re working toward saying goodnight, Jasper winds his scarf around both me and himself, joining us together. “I’m going to think of you every time I wear the scarf,” he says between kisses. “Not that I need a special reminder.”
His movements are more tender tonight, but they still have the same effect on me. I want him, and I want Felix, who playfully offers me a full-body massage, in case my muscles are sore from skating.
My head is already thoroughly muddled, and something tells me that sleeping with these men would make it impossible to find any clarity about how I truly feel.
We kiss a little longer, but I hold back, and later, when I’m alone, tossing and turning in my bed, I regret it. I try to remind myself that I think sex should mean something beyond physical gratification, but right now, all I want is to be gratified.
I want Felix and Jasper so badly, but I want Nick and Rudy, too. Both sets of brothers are so different—how can I be so attracted to all of them?
Chapter 17
Nick and Rudy get in touch a few times early in the week, and when our chatting touches on the topic of holiday sweets, I invite them over to my house to bake cookies.
Unfortunately, I get caught up in a discussion when it’s time to leave work, and I end up having to rush through the grocery store in order to make it home in time to meet the Frost brothers.
Still slightly nervous but probably hoping for more butt rubs, Cupid lingers near the doorway to the kitchen while Nick, Rudy, and I unpack the grocery bags.
“We could have brought the ingredients,” Rudy says.
“It’s okay. I need to make a double batch tonight anyway, because we’re having a potluck luncheon at work tomorrow to thank our volunteers. I’d have had plenty of time for grocery shopping if it wasn’t for a library patron coming in right before closing, demanding to give me an earful about a list of books they wanted me to ban.”
Rudy’s jaw drops open. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was.”
“If you don’t like a book, don’t read it. I don’t understand why someone would feel the need to impose their view on others,” Nick says.
I just shake my head and shrug. Running a library is full of challenges lately, and I’m usually good about separating my work life and home life, but the men seem to notice that things are still bothering me, because they go out of their way to make cookie baking more fun than I’d have imagined it could be.
Nick makes up little songs and rhymes about the ingredients as Rudy adds them to the bowl with comical flourishes. When I realize I accidentally bought baking soda instead of baking powder, they tell me not to worry.
When we roll out the dough, they cut it into funny shapes, and talk in silly voices, portraying the raw gingerbread boys having conversations with each other about how they want to go on vacation somewhere very hot and get a tan.
“Oh no, I forgot to preheat the oven!”
“No problem,” Rudy says, giving my shoulders a relaxing squeeze as I push the buttons to belatedly turn on the oven. “There’s no rush.”
“There are other things we can do while we wait for it to heat up,” Rudy says.
“Make the icing?” I hope I bought the right kind of sugar for that.
“I had something more fun, and more relaxing, in mind.” He pulls me back against him, my back to his front, and starts massaging my shoulders with his strong, capable hands.
I’m stiff at first, but as he works his magic, I melt into him, so much so that when the oven dings to tell us it’s reached the needed temperature, I don’t even register the sound.
Nick puts the pan in and sets the timer, then steps in front of me, so he can kiss me while his brother continues to massage me. Best cookie-baking session ever.
When the timer dings, I reluctantly pull myself away to retrieve the oven mitt from a nearby drawer. Then I open the oven door and see the cookies. “Oh no.”
“What’s wrong?” Rudy leans over to have a look.
“We no longer have cookies. We have cookie. They’ve all blobbed together.” The shapes are completely indistinguishable.
“Maybe we goofed around too much and made a mistake,” Nick says as I plop the pan on the stovetop.
“Maybe it was the baking soda, or powder.” I can’t even remember which one I used now.
To prevent the next pan of cookies from having the same result, Rudy suggests we mix more flour into the dough, and since we already rolled and cut the next set of cookies, we have to lump the dough back together and do it all over again. I’m frustrated by the double work, but the men are still making it fun.