Crossing the Line by Jacquelyn Ayres

Author:Jacquelyn Ayres [Ayres, Jacquelyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: #3 The GEG Series
Publisher: Jacquelyn Ayres
Published: 2016-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

My doorbell starts ringing obnoxiously, and I scamper around, trying to get dressed a little quicker. “Hurry!” I whip my towel at him in a panic as he is taking his sweet damn time.

“What’s got you all wound up, sweetness?” He eyes me and waggles his brows.

“I didn’t even wrap the last few gifts!” I grab my head in disbelief. I hate this. I hate being late. I hate not having shit done in time. I hate the panic that occurs. I hate that CiCi has not stopped with my fucking doorbell, yet! “I’m gonna fucking strangle her!”

“Maddie, calm down.” He grabs my shoulders gently. “I’ll get the door; you finish in here.” He kisses my forehead. “I’ll see you in two days—I—” he stops mid-thought.

“You what?”

“Nothing.” He shakes his head quickly, looking slightly freaked out.

“Whoa! What’s that look about?” I try to stay focused. I’m going to fucking strangle her.

“I miss you already; that’s all.” He gives me a quick kiss and grabs his shirt before practically running out my bedroom door, closing it behind him. I stare at it for a few moments before snapping into action. I don’t know what that was about, but I don’t have time to figure it out right now. I throw my pajama pants on to complete my fancy ensemble for the night and grab the gifts I still need to wrap.

“He’s a keeper!” CiCi announces as she walks into my bedroom.

“Wow—knock much?” Yes, I’m still irritated.

“Nah. Besides, I’ve seen all that you have to offer, shortstack.” She winks. “Last minute wrapping?”

“Yes, damn it!” Did I mention I hate not having shit done in time?

“Stop flippin’ out! Try to think of the reason why you’re not done.” She nudges me.

“Why’s that?” I toss the roll of wrapping paper on the bed and zip my scissors up it frantically like there’s a gun to my head or a timer that’s about to buzz.

“You were busy getting some lovin’ for you muffin.”

I take in a deep breath. She’s right; that is a good reason. “What is it with guys, though? When you want them to take their time, they’re in a race. And, when you want them to go off like a jackhammer, that’s the time they decide they are going to make epic love to you?”

“Make epic love?” she questions like she’s trying it out. “I think you should have that stenciled above your bed.”

“Or . . . ‘Make Love Epic,’” I add to her thoughts.

“Now, that’s the type of saying that will make you feel like belting out an Italian love song, like that pasta commercial.” She lies on my bed, hand to head, hoisted up by her elbow.

“You mean that song by Andrea Bocelli?”

“How would I know; I’m Irish?”

“What?” I laugh.

“I don’t know the Italians that sing the Italian love songs.”

“I don’t think it’s a rule that you have to be Italian to know who they are.” I fit the paper to the shirt box.

“Or to eat the pasta they sell.”

“Bocelli doesn’t sell the pasta.

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