10
" Suddenly she appears in the driveway, barefoot, in a t-shirt and tight black leggings, running to her car on her tiptoes. Yanks the door open, ass sticking out of the cab when she leans in, swiping an unseen object from the center console. Slams the door and turns back toward the house. She doesn’t see me standing here. “Laurel,” I call her name in the rain, loud enough that she spins on the grass, brows raised, surprised to see me in her yard. Shocked, actually. “Rhett?” She steps toward me, clutching her phone charger. “Rhett, what are you doing here?” She squints her blue eyes up at the sky as beads of water blanket her hair. Her skin is already dewy. “I came to see you.” “Okay.” She smiles, giving a hasty glance up at the sky. “Do you want to come inside?” “No.” My head shakes, adamant, the brim of my ball cap keeping only my face dry. “No, I need to say what I came to say.” Laurel nods slowly, hair now completely saturated, falling in limp sheets to her shoulders. She tightly winds her phone cord and tucks it into the back pocket of her jeans. "
― Sara Ney , The Learning Hours (How to Date a Douchebag, #3)
12
" Laurel?” His face inches closer. I suck in a breath. This is it—he’s going to kiss me. “Yes?” “Est-ce que je peux t’embrasser?” “I don’t know what that means,” I say in a breathy whisper. “What are you hopin’ it means?” Our mouths are a sigh apart, the air between us tickling my lips. His powerful chest brushes my breasts and this time, he doesn’t move away. “Say it again.” “Est-ce que je peux t’embrasser?” His mouth is hot, near my ear, warm breath sending a spark up my middle, dampening my underwear. “Dis oui, s’il te plait.” Est-ce que je peux t’embrasser; dear Lord, I hope it means he wants to kiss me. I hope it means— "
― Sara Ney , The Learning Hours (How to Date a Douchebag, #3)
19
" Je vais t’embrasser.” His mouth is moving, speaking words I don’t understand, inching closer. I nod. “Okay.” Those rough, callused hands cup my jaw, thumbs stroking my smooth skin. “Je suis content que tu sois ici, Laurel.” His lips brush the skin beneath my ear. “I’m really glad you’re here.” He’s so gentle. So tender. My eyes slide closed and I bite my lip, bite back a moan. “Putain, tu es jolie,” he murmurs into my ear. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty.” “Merci.” It’s the only other French word I know, and it slips out on a whisper as I tilt my neck so he can plant a kiss there. His warm hands slide to the back of my neck, lips dragging along my jawline. To the corner of my mouth. "
― Sara Ney , The Learning Hours (How to Date a Douchebag, #3)