Total pages in book: 296
Estimated words: 284055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1420(@200wpm)___ 1136(@250wpm)___ 947(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 284055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1420(@200wpm)___ 1136(@250wpm)___ 947(@300wpm)
The guy takes it and unfolds it. “Sure thing, darlin’.” His accent is even more noticeable when he says that. Damn, it’s kinda hot too. Before the woman walks off, he winks at her with a smile that can only mean he’ll be calling her soon for another hookup.
The dark-haired guy is smirking and shaking his head.
“Nice.” I mutter my annoyance at the fact that he was literally just hitting on me, and five seconds later he’s drooling over this chick.
Better yet, why do I care?
“What’s that?” the blond guy asks, startling me when he raises his voice loud enough for me to hear. “You jealous already? I didn’t even sleep with that one…” He smirks, then winks as if that’s his seductive trademark.
“Wow, I’m shocked by your willpower. Better catch her and remedy that then.” I hold back rolling my eyes, which is my own trademark when I’m annoyed.
“Nah. I’m not impressed with the local cuisine. I’d rather try something…new and interesting. Any suggestions?” He arches a brow, giving me every opportunity to mock him.
Natalie’s about to burst a vein with how hard she’s trying to hold back her laughter.
Swallowing, I hold my stance and play his little game. “I’d suggest you stick to what you know, so you don’t get bitten. Or worse.”
“Damn,” the dark-haired guy blurts. “She’s my new favorite person.” He chuckles, and the blond elbow jabs him. “She shot you down and put you in your place. You'd better marry her, or I will.”
I snort. “I’m leaving now.” I stand, taking my plate, and push in my chair.
“Okay, but don’t forget we have a couple’s massage at ten!” Natalie shouts. “Unless you’d prefer Mr. Southern ‘n Dirty accompany you?”
I wave a hand up in the air and salute with my middle finger.
CHAPTER FIVE
ALEX
The sun feels like it’s burning my skin straight through the window as I roll over in bed. Last night, we stumbled back to our suite, and since we drank and sang karaoke all night, I forgot to close the curtains—hell, I’m lucky I even made it to the bed at that point.
Just as I sit up, my head pounds hard and loud like the beat of the music at the club. Drinking so early after we traveled all day was a bad decision on my part, but Dylan was all for it, as usual. We aren’t letting any part of this vacation go to waste.
I stand and walk to the bathroom only to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
You look like shit, I think to myself, needing to clear my throat that’s sore from all my loud singing. Favorite song of the night: “All My Exes Live in Texas.” I chuckle because they do.
The world’s spinning, and I place my hand against the wall to steady myself before I face-plant on the floor. I stumble to the mini fridge to grab a bottle of water and realize I don’t see Dylan anywhere in the room. Opening the door that leads to the sitting area, I find him sleeping on the couch with his legs and arms hanging off the side. He’s too tall for that small couch, and it makes me laugh, even though it hurts my head when I do. He’s trying so hard to be comfortable, it’s comical. We might be a hungover shitshow, but we showed Florida how to really party—Texan style.
Last night, after we bought some swim trunks and flip-flops, we changed clothes, grabbed a quick dinner, then went down to the cabana bar by the water where country music was blasting loud and proud. Five shots of tequila and a few beers later, we were dancing and singing, and now today I’m paying for it.
Just as my stomach growls, Dylan rolls over off the couch and lands flat on his ass. He rubs his hand over his face, and I can tell he feels as bad as I do.
“Ugh,” he moans, trying to get up but fails miserably. Walking over to him, I hold out my hand to pull him off the floor. As he stands in front of me, I see bright red lip prints all over his face.
“Last night must’ve been good.” I chuckle, plopping down on the couch and leaning my head back.
Dylan looks at me confused before walking to the bathroom. Once he flicks on the lights, I hear him mutter, “What the hell?” I know he’s referring to the lipstick on his face and neck. “All that and I slept on that damn miniature couch alone!”
My stomach growls again, and I know the only way to fix this hangover is to eat something.
“I’m hungry,” I tell him as I force myself to stand and go to my suitcase. I slip on a T-shirt and a pair of jeans.
“Me too,” Dylan agrees.