Read Online Rewriting History by Missy Johnson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Missy Johnson
Tags: Romance, Literature & Fiction, Coming of Age, Contemporary, Genre Fiction, New Adult & College
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boyfriend. My eyes widen and my mouth is open when I realize I’m holding a two-night getaway for Los Angeles.
“I was torn on what to get you,” he admitted. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had to buy for a girlfriend.”
“You did well,” I laugh. I can’t stop smiling. I feel so lucky to have so many people around me who care about me. “I don’t know what to say. This is amazing.”
“Just say ‘thank you, Eli, you’re the most amazing, sexy guy on the planet and I’m thrilled at the idea of sharing two nights in LA with you,’” he teases, rising from his chair.
“You’re an idiot,” I giggle. “But honestly, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend it with.”
“Now, before you sidetrack me again, I’m going to serve dinner.”
I watch as he loads the table between us with an array of garlic bread, pasta, and salad. It looks amazing and I’m impressed at how much trouble he has gone to.
“You cooked all this?” I gasp, a smile stretching across my cheeks.
He flushes. “Well, I may have had a little help from Dolante’s,” he admits, naming an expensive Italian restaurant in town.
I laugh, because I’m still impressed—because it’s probably even more considerate of him not to have subjected me to his cooking.
“Something funny?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.
I shake my head. “No. Just thinking how lucky I am.”
Chapter Ten
Eli
Last night occupies my thoughts, and I’m finding it hard to focus on anything but the thought of myself inside her. I glance over and watch her sleep, easing strands of her hair from her face. She stirs, a smile spreading on her lips, but doesn’t wake. She is perfect.
I know I have to tell her, but I have no idea how. When she told me she loved me last night, I knew I wouldn’t be able to reciprocate the words. As much as I wanted to, until she knows where we stand, I don’t want her feelings to run deeper than they already are.
I’ve never been so happy for the holidays—two weeks of not having to worry about being seen with her—but hanging in the back of my mind is the fact that I’ll be her teacher again. How do I tell her that? I want to wait for the right moment, but at the same time, I don’t want to lie to her.
I’m not going to ruin her break. We’ll make the most of this, and then I’ll tell her. Six months isn’t long, is it? We have the rest of our lives . . . if she even feels the same way. I know she loves me, but does love at eighteen differ from the love you feel at twenty-five? Was I capable of this at eighteen?
That’s what scares me most.
The problem with such a big age difference is that even though she’s mature for her age, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m eight years older than she is. It’s always in the back of my mind. Am I taking advantage of her? Am I stealing experiences from her? I hate the thought that I could be. She’s still so young, so impressionable, and I need to be cautious of that.
She stirs in my arms again, but this time her eyes open. She smiles at me.
“Hey,” I murmur, kissing her forehead.
“Morning,” she replies, snuggling closer to me.
I’m hard. Again. But she always does that to me. I could sleep with her all day and it still wouldn’t be enough. I run my fingers over her back until she falls back to sleep. There is nothing sexier in the world to me than the curve of her naked back. It’s an instant turn-on, and something I could touch all day.
I force myself to get up and quickly shower before getting started preparing her a post-birthday breakfast. I’m a pretty crappy cook, but I’ve been practicing this blueberry pancake recipe all week in preparation for today and I’m feeling pretty damn confident.
Too confident.
After four failed attempts and no idea what the fuck I’m doing wrong, I scratch the idea and pull some bread out of the freezer. Eggs and bacon on toast I can manage—I think.
I look up and see
“I was torn on what to get you,” he admitted. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had to buy for a girlfriend.”
“You did well,” I laugh. I can’t stop smiling. I feel so lucky to have so many people around me who care about me. “I don’t know what to say. This is amazing.”
“Just say ‘thank you, Eli, you’re the most amazing, sexy guy on the planet and I’m thrilled at the idea of sharing two nights in LA with you,’” he teases, rising from his chair.
“You’re an idiot,” I giggle. “But honestly, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend it with.”
“Now, before you sidetrack me again, I’m going to serve dinner.”
I watch as he loads the table between us with an array of garlic bread, pasta, and salad. It looks amazing and I’m impressed at how much trouble he has gone to.
“You cooked all this?” I gasp, a smile stretching across my cheeks.
He flushes. “Well, I may have had a little help from Dolante’s,” he admits, naming an expensive Italian restaurant in town.
I laugh, because I’m still impressed—because it’s probably even more considerate of him not to have subjected me to his cooking.
“Something funny?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.
I shake my head. “No. Just thinking how lucky I am.”
Chapter Ten
Eli
Last night occupies my thoughts, and I’m finding it hard to focus on anything but the thought of myself inside her. I glance over and watch her sleep, easing strands of her hair from her face. She stirs, a smile spreading on her lips, but doesn’t wake. She is perfect.
I know I have to tell her, but I have no idea how. When she told me she loved me last night, I knew I wouldn’t be able to reciprocate the words. As much as I wanted to, until she knows where we stand, I don’t want her feelings to run deeper than they already are.
I’ve never been so happy for the holidays—two weeks of not having to worry about being seen with her—but hanging in the back of my mind is the fact that I’ll be her teacher again. How do I tell her that? I want to wait for the right moment, but at the same time, I don’t want to lie to her.
I’m not going to ruin her break. We’ll make the most of this, and then I’ll tell her. Six months isn’t long, is it? We have the rest of our lives . . . if she even feels the same way. I know she loves me, but does love at eighteen differ from the love you feel at twenty-five? Was I capable of this at eighteen?
That’s what scares me most.
The problem with such a big age difference is that even though she’s mature for her age, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m eight years older than she is. It’s always in the back of my mind. Am I taking advantage of her? Am I stealing experiences from her? I hate the thought that I could be. She’s still so young, so impressionable, and I need to be cautious of that.
She stirs in my arms again, but this time her eyes open. She smiles at me.
“Hey,” I murmur, kissing her forehead.
“Morning,” she replies, snuggling closer to me.
I’m hard. Again. But she always does that to me. I could sleep with her all day and it still wouldn’t be enough. I run my fingers over her back until she falls back to sleep. There is nothing sexier in the world to me than the curve of her naked back. It’s an instant turn-on, and something I could touch all day.
I force myself to get up and quickly shower before getting started preparing her a post-birthday breakfast. I’m a pretty crappy cook, but I’ve been practicing this blueberry pancake recipe all week in preparation for today and I’m feeling pretty damn confident.
Too confident.
After four failed attempts and no idea what the fuck I’m doing wrong, I scratch the idea and pull some bread out of the freezer. Eggs and bacon on toast I can manage—I think.
I look up and see
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