Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
But first, I had to get to it. I shoved a box stack away from the wall, then wedged myself into the space I’d created until my fingertip finally reached the button.
As soon as I pushed it, I heard running footsteps, and then the sound of locks clicking. That was followed by, “Fucking hell!” As the boxes started to disappear, someone called, “Jasper? Is that you?”
“It is. Can I help in some way?”
“No, it’s okay. I’ve got it.”
More boxes disappeared from the far side of the stack. The thudding sound told me he was chucking them into the house. After a few moments, he popped up and smiled at me. “Wow, you’re gorgeous,” he said. “Hang on just one more minute, I’ve almost made a path.”
He flung a few more packages into the house, opening up an aisle between two box towers. I squeezed through and looked up into sparkling brown eyes. “Hi, I’m Micah,” he told me. “Sorry about the barricade. I guess I hadn’t opened the door in a couple of days.”
That many packages had piled up in a couple of days? I asked, “What is all that stuff?”
As he contemplated the boxes strewn across the floor, I took the opportunity to study him. He had about four inches on me, which would make him six feet tall, and if I had to guess, I’d say he was in his late thirties. He had a slightly olive complexion, and wavy, shoulder-length dark hair, which was shot through with a little gray. His faded jeans and tight, black T-shirt showed off a big, muscular body, and he was sporting a short beard. Okay, so he was actually really sexy.
Micah turned back to me and shrugged. “Actually, I have no idea what’s in any of those boxes. I get pretty bored most nights, and sometimes I end up buying useless shit on the internet. I guess I was asleep when it got delivered, because I don’t remember hearing the doorbell.”
“I see.” I really didn’t, but it was something to say.
“Anyway, welcome. I’m glad you’re here. Can I offer you a drink before dinner?”
“I’d love one.”
As he led the way into the house, I glanced up at the funky, black chandelier with purple lights, which hung from the two-story-high ceiling in the black and white marble foyer. Well, that was…a choice.
I followed him down a long hallway lined with eclectic artwork, and after a minute we arrived at a pub. Literally, an actual pub. A ten-foot-long mahogany bar fronted glass shelves containing every type of alcohol imaginable. There was a red leather booth in the corner, an expensive-looking pool table, a dart board, three pinball machines, and even a small dance floor with a jukebox. It was as if someone had transported an entire vintage tavern to this guy’s house.
Micah stepped around the bar, and as I took a seat on one of the barstools, he asked, “What would you like?” He picked up a dog-eared copy of a book on bartending and added, “I can make just about anything.”
“A glass of white wine?” I felt like I was ruining his bartender fantasy, but he produced a wine glass, then popped the cork on a nice bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and poured it with a flourish. After he placed it in front of me and I thanked him, he turned to a marked page in the bartending book, squinted at a recipe, and went to work crafting an elaborate cocktail, which began with juicing some lemons and limes.
He poured the juice into a silver cocktail shaker, followed by some liquor, cream, and a couple more things. I tried not to gag when he added a raw egg white to his concoction, and I asked, “What are you making?”
His dark brows were knit in concentration. “It’s called a Ramos Gin Fizz. I’ve been working through this book page by page, which lists each type of alcohol alphabetically. I’m up to the letter G.”
Then he started shaking the silver canister. And shaking. And shaking. After a while, I asked, “How long do you have to do that?”
“According to the book, the creator of this cocktail used to shake it for twelve to fifteen minutes. Modern bartenders claim about a minute is sufficient. I’m going to split the difference.” After another minute or two of that, he smiled at me and tossed his head to fling a wayward strand of hair out of his face. “Okay, so this is actually exhausting. I feel like my workout routine has totally failed me. How the hell could anyone actually do this for fifteen minutes?”
I took a sip from my wine glass before saying, “While you’re doing that, maybe you could tell me about the proposal you mentioned.”
“Let’s save that stuff until after dinner. I want you to get to know me a bit before you hear my pitch, or it’ll probably be an automatic no.” With a buildup like that, I could only imagine what this guy was going to ask for. While my mind wandered to some very kinky places, he asked, “Should I pay you up front for tonight? I don’t know how this works.”