Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 139147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
“Okay, I haven’t had enough time to evaluate how the scale is going to be set up, so you can’t give me accurate readings at this time, but preliminarily, with you at a ten, and Liam at a nine, mostly because I’m not sleeping with him, where’s this Knox guy at?”
“You mean in looks?”
“Yeah.”
He chuckled. “Babe, I can’t tell you that.”
I gave him the side eye. “Please. I can tell you Beyoncé is gorgeous and Selena Gomez is cute without taking a hit to my womanhood.”
“We’ll just say he doesn’t have a problem getting himself some.”
Which meant this Knox guy was probably a nine too, at least on the Cap Scale. Which meant twenty-seven on the regular one.
I needed to ask Luna if she’d lift the ban off new acquaintances for her birthday party so we could feel these guys out (particularly her, I was digging coming home to my hot guy and bourbon molasses salmon, and I felt the need to spread that joy).
Then again, if this guy was our age, she didn’t need to get in a cat fight with Jessie and Harlow over him. Someone might knock over the bowl of her famous pimento cheese spread.
My phone binged.
I read the text from Dad then told Cap, “Dad and Deb are in for dinner here Friday.”
“Great.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“No, baby.”
“You down with me putting my new stuff away?”
“Absolutely.”
I hopped off the barstool to do that.
But I went to him first for a kiss.
This time I got tongue, so things escalated, and I was hot, wet and panting, and the salad wasn’t finished, nor was my stuff put away, and we were about five minutes away from kitchen-floor sex, when the timer went off to tell us the salmon fillets were done.
“Can I borrow this?” Harlow, lounging across my bed, holding up my new Fendi, asked.
“I haven’t even used it yet,” I told her from where I was, standing by my wall, waiting to continue our briefing.
“After you use it,” she amended.
“Girl, she got that shopping with her dad for the first time in eight years. Not even,” Jessie replied instead of me. Then she, sitting cross-legged on the edge of my bed with Patches purring in the nest of her lap, announced to the room at large, “I need a cat.”
“You barely remember to feed yourself, how are you going to remember to feed a cat?” Harlow returned.
“I remember to feed myself,” Jess shot back.
As far as I could tell, Jessie existed on coffee and whatever struck her fancy at QuikTrip, and that was more about their massive beverage station, snacks were an afterthought.
This was why Jessie was slim and had a B-cup (maybe).
Whatever she ate, it gave her thick, glorious chestnut hair a healthy gleam. With her blue eyes and the olive tone to her skin, she’d be a way better Kelly Garrett than me.
Harlow, on the other hand, had light-brown hair (with highlighted hues of honey) and dark-brown eyes, a wholesome Jennifer Garner thing going on, and she had a bombshell figure (like Luna and me, but whereas Jess was Luna’s height, Harlow was an inch shorter than me).
Jessie had the personality of a goth on a good day, and the wardrobe to match. She didn’t go the thick-eyeliner and pale skin route (the latter part of that was due to genes, the former part due to good fashion sense), but most everything she wore was black, with some white, red or neutrals thrown in so it wouldn’t get boring.
Harlow had the personality of a cheerleader, also with the wardrobe to match. She was all about babydoll dresses, bows, ruffles and perfecting the art of wearing a ton of makeup and looking like she wasn’t wearing a stroke.
I had no idea how they were besties, I just knew it worked.
We’d already ascertained they were in to be Angels. Considering their level of crazy matched, and sometimes surmounted Luna’s and mine, I shouldn’t have been surprised what an easy sell it was. They didn’t so much as blink when we told them what we’d been up to, nor when we gave them the lowdown on “We” and asked them to become Angels.
We didn’t even need Fireball and pinkie swears (but we did it anyway, with Jessie rolling her eyes and looking about ready to hurl, and Harlow giggling).
So we had shit to do.
I had a hot guy to come home to, and before he took off for beers with the boys, I discovered Cap had a particular talent with quickies. Even so, it wasn’t going to keep my status where I wanted it to be on my newly invented Cap-Induced-Orgasms-o-Meter, so I didn’t want to be at this all night.
But, as had happened often since Jessie and Harlow showed, we were way off topic.
Taking us back to that, kind of, having put my new patent pink baby aside, her eyes now to her phone, obviously having googled the sitch, Harlow announced, “I get to be Kris Munroe.”