Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 91840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“How do you know it was whiskey I drank? It could’ve been water.”
“Was it?”
“No.”
She laughs.
I get a sharp pain in my foot. My brows pinch together.
I get my flask from my pocket and take another drink of whiskey.
“Just take some pain medication if it hurts that much.”
“No.”
“God, you’re stubborn.”
“God, you’re annoying.”
And I’m five years old again. Why exactly do I act like a child around this chick? I’m three seconds away from pulling her hair and pushing her to the floor.
But, even still, I like arguing with her. It’s fun. And kind of hot.
“Speedy?”
“What?”
“Will you argue with me? It’s what’s been distracting me from the pain this whole time.”
“So, you’d rather argue with me than take pain pills?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m odd.”
“I already figured that. I’ll make you a deal. You tell me why you won’t take pain pills, and I’ll argue with you to your heart’s content.”
No way am I telling her that. I don’t tell anyone anything about myself because, if I did, I’d be reading about it on Radar Online an hour later.
“Forget it.” I pull my ball cap off, toss it on Tate’s desk, and run my fingers through my hair. Then, I shut my eyes, tip my head back, and breathe through the pain.
“Your last movie was shit by the way.”
A grin spreads across my face.
I open my eyes and look at her. “As shit as your driving?”
She holds back a smile. “My driving could never be as shit as your acting.”
“So, you’re saying that all my movies are bad. Yet you’ve watched them all.”
“I never said I watched them all. I said, your last one was bad.”
“You’ve so watched them all. I bet you have them all on DVD and watch them every day. Especially Bonjour. I bet you know that one scene by heart—when I’m buck naked and fucking Annette Channing on the Pont de l’Archevêché.”
“I do not!”
Her cheeks are as red as the blood currently pumping through my veins and down to my cock. And I know she’s watched that scene multiple times. Probably gotten off to it.
I lean forward. “You want to know something about that scene?” I leave the words teasing, tantalizing.
And, like a fly to my web, she leans in closer, moving forward in her seat. I don’t even think she’s aware she’s doing it.
Her eyes are focused fully on me.
As mine are on her.
The scent of her perfume fills my nostrils. She smells like summertime and apples. And I want to take a big bite out of her.
“You know how the press reported that it was real? That I really screwed Annette in that scene?”
She moves even closer, ass on the edge of her seat, hanging on my every word.
“I didn’t,” I whisper. Then, I grin big.
Gabe
Speedy’s eyes narrow. “Jerk.”
“Perv.”
“I am not a perv!”
“You so are.” I laugh, sitting back. “You were practically salivating at the thought of knowing that it was real. Just admit it. There’s no shame in being a pervert, Speedy.”
“I am not a pervert!” she snaps, righteously crossing her arms over her chest.
And, of course, my eyes go to her tits again. I can see her cleavage pushing up through the top of her shirt, practically bursting to get out.
I bet she has great tits. They look amazing under her clothes. I can only imagine they are fan-fucking-tastic in all their naked glory.
“Unlike you,” she growls. “Hey, pervert! My eyes are up here.”
Busted.
But I take my sweet time in raising my eyes. And, when I meet hers, I give her a cocky smile.
“I know exactly where your eyes are, Speedy. You just have great tits. It’s hard not to look at them, especially when you insist on drawing my attention to them.” I point at her cleavage.
She looks down and drops her arms. “God, you’re crass and disgusting and crude and-and…”
“You at a loss for words, Speedy? That’s a first. Hang on, let me get my camera out to capture the moment.” I pretend to reach for my phone.
“Ugh! You’re a pig!”
“Who’s a pig?” Tate asks, walking through the door.
“Me apparently.”
“Well, that’s nothing new.”
Tate’s eyes go to Speedy, who has swiveled around to look at him.
Then, a thought dawns on me.
Tate could like her. She’s definitely his type. Well, she’s everyone’s type.
And she could like him.
Sure, he’s not as hot as I am, but he is a good-looking bastard.
We have the same dark hair, except Tate wears his a bit shorter than mine. And I’m taller by a couple of inches. Our skin has the same olive tone to it. But, apart from that, we look completely different.
I look like our dad, whereas Tate looks like Mom.
And Tate is a better person than me. He always has been. He takes care of sick kids, for fuck’s sake. I read lines that someone else wrote, and I’m good at fucking. That’s about the extent of my abilities.