Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 93683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“No.” The definite answer is echoed by a harsh push back towards Moose. “No. Thank you.”
“See and now we know that.”
“We do.”
“Without a doubt.”
“Without a single fucking one.”
“You know my grams’ favorite things are a good glass of aged whiskey and a slice of pecan pie,” I casually announce, redirecting her gaze to me. “Doesn’t matter if it’s Thanksgivin’ or jus’ a Tuesday in June.” Seeing the hint of a smile encourages me to add. “It’s always a good time for whiskey and pie.”
“It’s never a good time for whiskey,” is spoken prior to another gag.
“What do you wanna try next?” my finger taps the mini menu. “Somethin’ fruiter? Chocolatier?” A flirtatious grin is given. “Like whiskey and pie, it’s always a good time for chocolate and coffee.”
“I like coffee.” Tiny splashes of red tint her cheeks alongside a shy nod. “I like coffee a lot.”
Hallhavemercy…I would put a ring on her finger right now if I had one.
Coffee is the only thing I love as much as hockey and my tunes.
Not wanting to influence her decision – but definitely tempted to – is what leads to me suggesting, “You wanna try somethin’ with coffee liqueur in it?”
She coyly nods again.
“B-52s comin’ up,” Moose proclaims only to quickly amend, “right after I grab them fresh cold ones.”
His exit prompts me to speak quickly in hopes of keeping her attention, “Can you Texas two-step?”
Another fast-paced headshake is offered alongside her confession, “I don’t even know what that is.”
“It’s a dance,” coolly leaves me.
“It’s a religion,” the flannel wearing female on the other side of her corrects.
“For some,” I lightly concede at the same time I become completely upright. “And for you,” my palm is extended and turned upward, “class is about to be in sesh.”
The beam I’m presented threatens to have me panting harder than OT in the Cup finals.
Yup.
I’m out of my depths here.
We’re talkin’ tryin’ to sober karaoke George Strait in a Texas honky-tonk after his sold-out concert type shit.
As Grams would say…
Pray for me.
Steadying the hand that hasn’t shaken this hard since my first NHL game is practically a fucking miracle. “May I have this dance?”
Her dark eyebrows, which make a gorgeous contrast to her lighter features, lift towards the wagon wheel covered ceiling. “But what if we lose our spot at the bar?”
“Trust me.” Mischievousness meanders through my hazel stare. “We won’t.”
After a moment more of hesitation, she drops her hand into mine and sheepishly surrenders on a half-hearted shrug. “Okay.”
“We’re jus’ gonna do a couple basics, alright?”
Another unsure of herself nod occurs.
“It’s quick, quick, slow. So, I’m gonna start on my left-”
“Wait,” she hastily interjections, “shouldn’t we be like on the dance floor or headed to the dance floor or-”
“Right here where we can keep our spot, and I can keep my word?” An impressed grin is my segue to resume teaching. “Like I was sayin’…First, we’re gonna be a bit off center.” Repositioning myself is done. “And then I’m gonna start on my left foot, you’re gonna start with your right. I’mma shuffle, shuffle…”
My frame moves forward yet hers goes nowhere, resulting in my cowboy boot covered feet unintentionally crushing the tips of her toes. “Ou!”
“Shit. Shit. Shit,” I murmur in a panic. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I-”
“Should finish the instructions versus hoping I’m just gonna catch on quick.”
Embarrassment crimsons my face; however, the sight of her still smirking slightly lightens it. “I’m sorry again.”
“Forgiven.” She flicks curls away from her soft, round face I’m blocking myself from physically cupping. “Now, when you shuffle, shuffle, I need to buffle, buffle?”
“That mean back shuffle?”
“Yeah.”
“You jus’ make that up?”
“Yeah.”
Warm chortles appear prior to me nodding. “Alright then. Yes.” My chin kicks in that direction. “You need to buffle, buffle.”
“I can buffle, buffle.”
“Can you?”
“Pretty sure,” comes out in an impish nature. “I may have resting confused face, but I swear I’m not.”
“I like your face.” Not smiling is impossible. “And I can’t wait to see the other expressions it makes.”
Airy stammers swiftly escape but never turn into actual words.
Good.
At least now I know we’re playing in the same league.
“After your buffle, buffle, it’s slow, slow.”
“What’s slow?”
“Our steps.”
“But I’m still goin’ back?”
“Yup.”
“Buffle, buffle, buffff…bufff…?”
“Yup.”
“And then what?”
“And then under normal circumstances, I’d prep on turnin’ ya, but under these?” Softening my grin is mindlessly done. “We’re jus’ gonna do the same shit in reverse.” Her face twitches in what I’m pretty sure is uncertainty pushing me to attach my instructions to movements. “Buffle, buffle,” I state, encouraging her to do the small actions, watching her feet. “Buffff…buffff…Buffle, buffle…buffff…buffff…” The instant she completes all the small movements, I purr, “Good girl.”
An unmistakable moan gracing our presence invites my dick to the dance situation he is not meant for.
“I…uh…” the increasingly breathless tone effortlessly makes me even harder, “shuffle, shuffle, now?”
Nodding while not making eye contact is all I’m capable of doing.