Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
She grabs for the door, and the towel wrapped around her torso loosens, sliding down her body, which means I get a glimpse of a pair of nice perky tits before the door slams a third time.
“Nice boob job!” I yell at the closed door.
This time when it opens, a middle finger appears in the narrow gap. “They’re real, asshole.” The finger disappears, and the door slams again and remains closed.
She seems too feisty for Bowman. Too bad I have a moral compass. Otherwise she might be fun to play with.
CHAPTER 3
JERKS INC.
Stevie
“What a jerk!” I say to my boobs. I drop the arm barred across them, as it’s no longer necessary to protect my nipples from being visually molested. Despite his size, and the fact that he’s a virtual stranger, I didn’t feel particularly threatened by his unexpected presence in the apartment. Maybe because of his ridiculous underwear?
Anyway, my boobs are very much mine and also very nice. Every single boyfriend I’ve ever had whom I’ve gone past second base with has pretty much fallen in love with my chest—which hasn’t been a ton of guys because that’s not how I roll. Apparently I have great boobs and nipples. Guys are oddly enthralled with them.
I press my face against the door so I can look through the peephole. The jerk is still standing in the foyer, wearing a stupid grin. He scratches the inside of his leg near his junk, mutters something I can’t hear, and swaggers to his apartment door. I get to check out his fine, fine ass and incredibly defined back.
It’s so unfair that someone with a personality so lacking is this ridiculously good looking. He bends to retrieve his newspaper before he disappears into his apartment.
After I get dressed, I check the cupboards for food. There is literally nothing, apart from a bag of noodles and four tea bags, which makes grocery shopping a top priority. I don’t really want to leave the apartment, but I don’t seem to have much of a choice.
I’m poised to open the door when my phone chimes in my purse. Joey has messaged relentlessly since I found him with his man unit lodged in someone else’s vagina. It’s the typical “Oh shit, I got caught” BS: I’m so sorry, babe, it was an accident; it didn’t mean anything; we can work this out.
And maybe we could work it out, but if we did, then what? I’d spend the next however many months feeling insecure, wondering what he was doing when I wasn’t home or if he was being faithful when I visited my family in LA. I can already see how that would play out, and it definitely wouldn’t be good for me. I wouldn’t feel good about myself if I got back together with Joey after walking in on him like that. I suppose now at least I know exactly where my line is.
I’m relieved, sort of, when my brother’s name appears on the screen instead of Joey’s.
“Hey.” I put him on speakerphone and flop down on the couch.
“How are you this morning? Everything go okay last night?” RJ’s parental-style concern is as endearing as it is annoying with zero caffeine in my system.
“I’m fine.” That’s a lie, but the truth is an entire therapy session, so we’ll leave it at that. “You were right about the lock being tricky, but I figured it out. The guy across the hall thought I was trying to break in.”
“Which guy?”
“Uh, the super-buff one?” I wasn’t paying attention to the apartment number last night, and I’m too lazy to get off my ass and check.
“Most of the people up there keep to themselves, but if any of them give you problems, tell me, and I’ll deal with it.”
“It’s fine. I was making a racket because I was entering the code wrong at first.” I leave out the part where the guy insulted me and broke in this morning because I really don’t need my brother knocking on his door, making a scene.
“What about the douche ex? Has he tried to contact you?”
Only about a million times. “He’s messaged. I haven’t responded.” I change the subject because I can feel my eyes pricking with more stupid tears. “Where’s the closest grocery store and coffee shop around here?” If I use Uber Eats, I could avoid leaving the apartment altogether until Monday morning, but that would be a waste of the limited funds I currently have available.
“There’s a coffee shop on the first floor, and the grocery store is down the street. Sorry there’s nothing in the penthouse, but you can use online delivery. The concierge will bring everything up for you.”
“Isn’t there some kind of fee for that? Besides, there’s not much point in filling the fridge when I’ll be moving out as soon as I find a new place.”