Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“Great,” Steven continues. “See you there.”
“Great,” Hendricks repeats.
Steven bookends the agreement with another half-cocked smile and jogs back to his guests.
I stand there for a beat, trying to figure out how I got coerced into going to a party I have no interest in attending by a man who typically treats me like I am public enemy number one.
That was before the hugging sesh, Amanda. My kickass self seems to be speaking out of turn today.
“What has gotten into you? Because your moods are giving me whiplash.”
“That dude-bro––” He jerks a thumb in the general direction of Steven’s house. “wasn’t going to take no for an answer from you. Your brother would want me to keep an eye on him.”
I can’t dispute his claim about Calvin. He’s always been overly suspicious of any man remotely nice to me. Whether Hendricks is the man for the job is another matter altogether. “And how would you know that?”
A cryptic smile absent of any real amusement unfurls across his face. “I know.” He looks back at Steven’s house. “What a tool,” he absently mutters. With that, he jogs back to the house.
Hours later as I’m opening a brand-new Kindle courtesy of the man who drowned my last one, Hendricks appears in the open doorway of my bedroom. Leaning against the frame, he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his track pants, which forces them into a seriously compromising position, so far down low on his hips that pesky v makes an appearance. It’s very distracting. Like my eyes refuse to go anywhere else.
Then I remember that I didn’t take my hair out of the bun it was in when I got out of the shower. It’s still in a mangled beehive on top of my head. Along with the zit medication on my chin, I must be quite a sight. While I attempt to surreptitiously swipe the white clump of cream away with the back of my hand, his attention goes straight there. Naturally.
“I have a favor to ask.”
Say what? I don’t know if I should admire his courage, or be appalled by it. Either way, I really shouldn’t be staring at his chest––again. “Do you have something against shirts?”
Confusion falls over his face, his hand absentmindedly brushing across his bulging pecs like he only now remembers that he’s mostly naked. “It’s hot.”
It’s not that hot, but whatever.
“You were saying something about a favor?” My interest is definitely piqued. That and the fact that Hendricks looks like a hot poker is being shoved up his perfectly muscular butt. No amount of self-control is wiping the smug smile off my face. I place the Kindle down and lace my fingers together. “I’m listening.”
He takes a deep breath and meets my gaze head-on, no hesitation. “Do you know anything about my charity?”
I stand corrected. My smile drops and so does any lingering amusement I had over this impromptu evening visit. “A little. I know you advocate against domestic violence. I think that’s amazing by the way.”
He nods, chewing on the inside of his cheek. I’m dying to know more, to ask a million questions. Instinct tells me to wait him out, though.
“I have to visit a woman’s shelter that we helped renovate. It’s good PR for them, helps with fundraising…can you go with me?”
I blink. I blink again, taken aback. “Me? Why me?”
“The women and children living there…a lot of them are fresh out of a bad situation. I’m a man and––”
“Oh, oh, okay. I understand. You need a buffer.”
“Will you come or not?” he gruffly insists. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. This is obviously hard for him.
Before I can get a word out, he crosses the small distance between us and sits on my bed. I sit up abruptly with my knees bent, arms wrapped protectively around them. He’s so clueless about personal space and modesty that I don’t put it past him to not realize he’s seriously encroaching on mine.
His hand brushes across my foot hidden under the covers and a full-body shiver makes me twitch awkwardly.
“You don’t have anyone else you could ask?” It’s not like we’re friends. This seems like something you would ask a friend to do, one who could offer moral support.
“No,” he admits, his gaze moving away in embarrassment. “My PR people usually send an assistant with me…It’s not the same.”
He doesn’t even make an attempt at a lie or an excuse. There’s something inherently wrong with seeing him look so unsure, and yet I can’t explain why. I guess part of me admires the way he wears his confidence so effortlessly.
“Can I ask you something?” I murmur. He looks up sharply, pinning vivid blue eyes on me. “Why…uh––” For a beat, my courage falters under the intensity of his gaze. “Why do you trust me? I mean…after everything that’s happened between us why would you trust me?”