Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 87629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
We’ve had the “Mandy Cake” discussion many times. I’ve asked him to stop calling me that, and he’s said, “Really? You’ll always be Mandy Cake to me.”
Lather, rinse, repeat.
Which is the problem. I’ll always be Mandy Cake, despite the fact that he stopped being Jackie Lantern to me when I hit puberty.
I have to work to not stare at Jackson. He’s gorgeous—all chiseled jawline, sandy-brown stubble, and dark-blond hair that swoops over his forehead in a way he hates but only makes him more enticing. And those long-lashed eyes—sometimes they’re emerald green and sometimes they’re the light brown of cognac.
He calls them hazel.
I call them spectacular.
I could gaze into them forever and never tire of their beauty.
I clear my throat. “Yeah, really. Frankie just got engaged. I’m not getting any younger, Jack. I’m a virtual assistant. I sit behind a computer all day. When am I supposed to meet anyone?”
“Anywhere. How about here?” Jackson glances around the dining room at Sushi Palace and then nods to a table of three guys. “How about any of those guys?”
I follow Jack’s gaze and roll my eyes. “First of all, they all have gray in their hair. They’re too old for me.”
“I have a few gray hairs.”
“Not enough to matter. Those guys are in their late forties, I’d bet.”
Jackson takes a sip of his sake. “You don’t know that. They dress well, look interesting.”
“Exactly how can you tell they’re interesting by the way they dress?”
He smiles his dazzling smile—the one that makes my heart soar.
“They dress like I dress. And I happen to think I’m a very interesting person.”
The dazzling smile again.
My God, could I lust for this man more?
“I’m an introvert, Jack. Besides, what kind of woman walks up to a table of three men and starts flirting?”
He raises his eyebrows. “The kind of woman who’s looking for a date?”
“I’m not that woman. You’ve known me forever. You know how shy I am.”
He doesn’t reply. Instead, he focuses his attention on popping the beans out of an edamame pod.
Doesn’t matter. If I can’t have the man I want, I can find one exactly like him on Lustr. Right? It’s a virtual smorgasbord of eligible men, and one might be looking for Amanda Rose Thomas.
Chapter Two
Jackson
Mandy Cake on Lustr? I can’t see it. And then, when I think about it, I can’t unsee it.
She’s too sweet and innocent to get messed up in that hunting ground. I hate the idea. And I hate it even more when—
“So will you help me?”
I nearly spit out the mouthful of sake I just drank. I swallow quickly.
“Help you?”
“Yeah. Help me with my profile on Lustr.”
She’s got to be kidding.
“How can I help you?”
“Well…I figure…you know me as well as I know me. Better in some ways.”
“I’m not sure the time you had an accident in my sandbox belongs on your Lustr profile.”
“For God’s sake, Jack. Could you be serious for one minute?”
I am serious. She just doesn’t realize it. Lustr is no place for Amanda Thomas. It’s a fucking meat market.
“Jack?” Mandy prods.
I sip the last of my sake from my tiny cup. “You’re serious about this?”
“Absolutely. My little sister’s engaged, and I have absolutely no prospects. I can’t wait around for life to start happening to me. I need to get proactive. I want a partner in life. A family.”
Amanda has always underestimated herself. She’s quite beautiful, with a luscious hourglass figure. Her silvery gray eyes are unique and sparkling, and she has some of the fullest lips I’ve ever seen on a woman.
If she weren’t my Mandy Cake? Sure, I’d tap that. But Amanda is a white-picket-fence type. Sweet and innocent.
And I’m not.
Not even close.
I’m up at four a.m. every morning. I work eighty hours a week.
And I play.
I play hard.
I don’t want Mandy on Lustr, but if she’s going to be on the site, I can at least make sure she doesn’t attract the wrong kind of man.
“All right, Amanda.” I sigh and can’t help thinking I’m going to regret this. “I’ll help you.”
…
The next morning—Sunday—I head over to Amanda’s. She lives in a small one-bedroom apartment in the Village that’s still in her great-aunt’s name, so it’s rent controlled. Me? I live in a larger apartment in Manhattan that’s close to work and play.
I knock and then key in her code, pushing the door open. “Mandy, where are you?”
I kneel and pet her rescue pup, Roger. He’s a Chihuahua mix and hates pretty much everyone except Mandy and me. “What’s up, Rog?” I scratch him behind his ears.
Amanda walks out from her bedroom, her hair wet and hanging in ringlets around her shoulders. She’s wearing pink lounging pants and a white tank top. No bra. Her nipples poke through the cotton.
I’m a guy. I notice these things.
Mandy has really nice tits. Not that I’ve ever seen them. The closest I’ve ever gotten was when she lost her bikini top at my parents’ pool the summer between our freshman and sophomore years of high school. She covered herself and ran inside before I got a good look. The nipples, though? They poke through the flimsy cotton fabric and give me an eyeful.