Blown Away (A Romantic Comedy) (Five More Wishes Book 1) Read Online Free

into pure arousal. My estrogen was multiplying itself like an amoeba. I was a Victoria’s Secret Angel, porn star, and Olympic gymnast all in one. Cade lifted my leg until my foot was by my head so he could enter me even further. As if he could read my mind, he thrust faster, picking up speed. To top it off, he dropped his hand to caress me as he entered me.
    The rest is fuzzy. I’m pretty sure I levitated. For sure, I spoke in tongues and sang the Beatles’ “Revolution” backward. Within seconds, I exploded and Cade exploded right after.
    Completely sated, we laid immobile on the desk for at least ten minutes, him lying on top of me, and me gathering his body with mine, my limbs wrapped around him, and his exploding love stick still inside me.
    Yes, I was in bliss.
    Yes, I was in bliss because the sex was mind-blowingly mind-blowing and not because I had knocked back two tequilas.
    I was lying on an old desk with a stupid smile on my face and my body turned into melted butter. If I could go back in time, I would slap the bliss right off my face, because at that very second, Cade’s gorgeous, strong sperm swimmers were swimming through my cervix on their way to fertilize my traitorous egg.
    Those little bastards.
    We never spoke about the tequila night after that. For fifty-one days, we acted as if nothing happened, as if it wasn’t the best sex I ever had. Not a peep about a change in our relationship or whether friends-slash-colleagues should be lovers. Immediately after we caught our breath, still in the after-effects of the throes of passion, we got off the desk in an uncomfortable silence and stolen, sheepish looks. Then, we got dressed and picked up the office supplies from the floor.
    Like nothing happened.

CHAPTER 3
     
    I punch Cade, again. He responds by tapping my solar plexus, sending me teetering backward on my heels until I pop out of my shoes. They get stuck in the mud, and I fall on my butt.
    “Why did you do that?” Cade asks, staring down at me. It’s hot outside, but the cold mud is seeping through my JC Penny skirt, giving me the chills.
    “Why did I do that?” Insufferable jerk. I kick at his shins, but I can’t reach him. Cade offers me his hand, and I grudgingly take it. He pulls me up with no effort at all.
    “If you’re trying to make a good impression on Samba, you’re doing a miserable job at it.” Cade smirks and touches his nose, as if he’s trying to prevent himself from sneezing or laughing. Probably laughing.
    I wag my finger in his face. “Don’t laugh at me. It’s not funny.”
    “It’s kind of funny,” he says, arching an eyebrow.
    “No, it’s not.”
    “A little bit.”
    “No, it’s not,” I insist.
    “A shade less than George Carlin, but well above Louis CK.”
    I stomp my bare foot on the ground. “You have to be nice to me.”
    “I do? Since when?” he asks, honestly curious.
    “Since,” I begin but bite my lip. I need to tell him about the maybe probably baby, but I can’t bring myself to tell him. I’d rather tell him how much I weigh or watch him pick his nose. I would rather get a Pap smear or a prostate exam…if I had a prostate. Or a colonoscopy. Well, maybe not a colonoscopy. It’s a toss up…a giant hose up my butt or telling Cade that he’s going to be a daddy.
    “What’s going on in your brain?” he asks, interrupting my merry-go-round train of thought.
    “Nothing.”
    “Something awful is happening in there,” he says, pointing at my head. “Like Godzilla meets Chernobyl.”
    “Your mouth is Chernobyl. It’s spewing nuclear waste.”
    He gathers my shoes, and I balance with my hand on his shoulder while he kneels in front of me to help me slip my feet into them. “Breaking Bad marathon at my place tonight?” he asks.
    “Again?” We’ve already seen the entire series three times.
    With my feet re-shoed, he stands up and dusts his hands off on his jeans. “I got a limited edition DVD set with commentary by Peter