Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
“Well, hey, you’re miles ahead of me, then. My ex-fiancée wanted to sleep with my best friend, and in fact, that’s exactly what she did.”
“What?!” I nearly shriek. “Your ex cheated on you?”
“Yes.”
“On you? Someone cheated on someone with your face is what you’re trying to tell me?” I cluck like a hen. “I can’t believe it.”
He chuckles a little, but I stare him down, deadpan, and he finally affirms it. “Yes. For about a year and a half. Hell, it might not have been her only affair.”
I slap the epoxy-topped wood table so hard it shakes. “Shut the front door right now!”
“I’m serious,” he vows, wiping his hands on his napkin and sitting back into his metal-runged chair.
“I’m picking that up from you, I am, but I’m still having a very hard time believing it.”
He clears his throat and rubs a hand through his hair for a long moment, seemingly considering me. I don’t know what he sees, but he leans forward again, putting his elbows on the table and eyeing me closely. “The phone call from the other night. When you came outside to tell me you were out of the shower.”
Realization dawns, and my mouth drops open like a hawk swooping for a mouse. “Nooo.”
Chase nods, his pretty features completely belying the facts he’s laying out. “Yes. Her name is Caroline, and she calls once every month or so.”
So, that’s who Caroline is…
My heart is a little too thrilled with this revelation, and I clear my throat to strong-arm my concentration on to the conversation itself. You know, like any normal person who doesn’t have a long-standing crush that made them write an entire book about a guy would do.
“Why does she still call you?”
“It’s all a fucking game.” He shrugs. “She pretends she’s trying to get me back, but I’m pretty sure it’d be more purely classified as a torture tactic.”
“I don’t know. I’d buy into the part about getting you back. You seem like a catch to me.”
Ha-ha-ha-ha. You’re such a liar. He is the ultimate catch to you.
“Well, thanks. But she only calls when she’s drunk, and nine times out of ten, she’s the one to bring up Justin—my ex-best friend.”
“Justin?” I ask with a sneer to confirm, and he nods. “I don’t understand, I’m sorry. The math ain’t mathin’. There’s no way someone named Justin had something better going than you. I refuse to believe it. Refuse.”
Chase laughs, full-on throat extended, head back, out-of-this-world hotness on display, and all my points are proven. He’s the hottest man alive, and I am the Almighty of all powerful things because, I, Brooke Baker, just made him do that.
I pick up a French fry, dip it in mustard, and take a bite to celebrate my victory, but I just about fall out of my chair when Chase leans forward and gently swipes his thumb across the corner of my mouth.
“Just a little residual mustard,” he says with a tiny wink, and all I can do is sit there and try to remember how to breathe.
He just touched my mouth. With his fingers. Chase’s fingers were on my mouth.
Benji puts his snout on my legs, knowing full well my heart rate is heading toward danger territory, but I fight the power of the syncope and force myself to discreetly inhale a few calming breaths.
“By the way,” Chase adds with a grin. “I think the most shocking thing about tonight is the fact that you dip your French fries in mustard.”
“Hold up.” I quirk one eyebrow toward the ceiling and lift one hand toward his face. “My mustard use is more shocking than my ex-husband showing up at my meet-and-greet today with his new wife? Or the fact that my dad was asking my readers if there was a Fleetwood Mac show afterward?”
“Yep.” He nods through a soft chortle. “It’s so incredibly strange that I honestly think it’s cute.”
He thinks my mustard use is cute, and he touched my mouth.
Dear God, I’m in so much trouble it’s not even funny.
This man is single? And the last woman he was with treated him like absolute garbage? Sounds like a game, set, spike situation for me.
Stop, Brooke. You work with him, the sweet, good-natured angel voice in my head scolds.
But I’m a little afraid that by the time you’ve written a book about someone, all the bad, troublemaking things are already stuck in motion. Conscience, you sweet angel, you better get used to the dark side, baby. I think we’re here to stay.
My mind reels with my next move, searching deep for any certified flirtation or seduction techniques I’ve utilized in the past that have worked. Sadly, my track record isn’t exactly aces. Truthfully, I don’t know if I ever attempted to seduce anyone, not in any kind of successful way, that is. My awkwardness always seems to trump my sex appeal.