The Make Out Artist (Accidentally in Love #3) Read Online Sara Ney

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Funny, Romance, Sports Tags Authors: Series: Accidentally in Love Series by Sara Ney
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Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 86596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
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Sickening, really, considering no child needs that kind of money to live a happy life.

But anyway.

Moving on.

“Have you decided on what you’ll be having as an entrée?” The server reappears to take our order, the bus girl topping off the water we’ve barely drunk.

We order—me the steak, soup, and salad, and Molly the scallops and side of steamed vegetables—then the pair of us wait patiently for the server to disappear again so we can resume our very private conversation away from prying ears.

“Poor Keith,” Molly imparts.

“Yeah, on the one hand, he’s saddled with a gold digger. On the other, karma is a bitch. Don’t cheat with someone’s partner and expect the universe to grant you any favors. He had to learn the hard way the same way I did.”

“Karma.” Molly nods. “So true.”

I lean forward so she can hear what I’m about to say good and clear.

“The truth, Molly…” That familiar lump appears in my throat. “Is that when Laura told me that I might be the father of a child, the only thing I could think about was us. Was you.”

“Me? Why?” She fiddles with the napkin on her lap. “Why would it even matter? We’ve only been seeing each other for a little while. We don’t have a history. Not the same way you and Laura do.”

“Because, Molly, only a fool wouldn’t fall in love with you, and the last time I checked? I was a pretty smart man.”

“W-What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I love you,” I blurt out. “And the idea that we were torn apart because of something completely out of your control was devastating. I’m not trying to be melodramatic, but thoughts of you were the only thing keeping me up at night. I give a shit about how you feel and what you think about it, and it was a fucking punch in the gut.”

“You l-love me?”

“Yes, Molly, I love you.” Why am I babbling? “I would’ve learned to get used to the idea of being a dad, right? I know I want a kid, so in time, I would’ve been excited. Obviously. But I’m not sure how long it would’ve taken me to get over the loss of you.”

“I’m not dead, Eli. I’m right here.”

“I know, but who wants to be with a man who comes with so much baggage?”

“Babies are not baggage,” she points out. “And didn’t you just say you’re not the father?”

“I did just say that.”

“So what baggage are you talking about?”

Her hands are on the table now, resting on the white tablecloth, the long, lithe finger on her right hand has a single, gold ring on it that shines against the candle in the center of our table.

“My horrible ex-girlfriend. I work too much, and I have no pets. I can’t keep a plant alive to save my soul. I can’t cook, and I stay up until all hours of the night.”

Her face scrunches up. “That’s not baggage. Those are quirks.”

Eh, she’s being generous, but I’ll allow it. Taking her hand in mine, I look into her eyes.

“People search their whole lives for someone amazing, and here you are, and I almost lost you.”

“You’re right. You are being really dramatic.”

Is she trying to make a joke, or is she being serious? It’s hard to tell with her sometimes, but at least she’s smiling at me.

“Listen, I’ve had a really rough fucking week, okay? Cut me some slack.”

We both glance up when the servers return with our plates.

Molly, the insatiable little beast, immediately grabs her fork.

“Hold on.” I set down my napkin, push back my chair, rise from the table, and extend my hand. “Come with me.”

Confused, she fails to rise. “Where are you going?” She glances at her plate, hungry. “I’m starving, and I’m only here for the free meal.”

Liar.

She’s here for me.

“Come on.”

Begrudgingly, she stands—but not before stealing a veggie off her plate and chomping on it while we weave through the crowded restaurant, city lights shining and twinkling at us from far below.

“Why are we standing in front of the women’s bathroom? Do you have to pee?”

I push the door open, pull her inside, and lock the door behind her.

“Oh,” she coos. “Ohhhh.”

Now she gets it. Now she knows what we’re doing in here.

“What are you going to do with me? And how did you know this was a single-stall bathroom?”

Good question.

I didn’t. It was a guess.

But a lot of these older buildings are short on space. They use up every square inch for dining tables to get more bang for their buck, literally and figuratively.

Her back is against the door.

“I wanted to kiss you.” I move in front of her. “No. I had to kiss you.”

Been waiting to do this for a week.

“Had to kiss me?” Her brows are up. “That sounds serious.”

I move closer still. “Dire.”



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