Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 103170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Oh.
"Marriage changes things."
Yeah. Not going there. I'd rather talk about him fucking blondie.
How would he do it? Would he bend her over the counter, drag her to the bathroom, lay her on this table?
What if it was us, and she was watching, and we were—
"I told him it's ridiculous," he says. "But I couldn't turn down the chance to spend two weeks with the most difficult woman in New York."
"The city or the state?"
"The entire US, I think."
"Thanks."
He dives into his toast. "This is insanely sweet."
"What did you expect me to order?"
He laughs fair enough.
"So… you're just hanging out with me?" I ask. "Not trying to cock block me."
"I don't play wingman," he says.
"That's it? Not that Ty wouldn't allow it?"
"I don't care what Ty would allow." He tries to sell it, but he doesn't really get there.
"Really? So we can go back to my place? You can get me off in the shower."
His pupils dilate. "No, Sienna. I can't."
"Because Ty would kill you?"
He shakes his head. "I couldn't do that to you." He looks me in the eyes. "Offer you a taste and deny you a meal."
"Did you just refer to yourself as a meal?"
"I did, didn't I?"
"Yeah. Have some self-respect. Seriously, Cam. I worry about you sometimes."
"It is true."
"There are other meals out there," I say.
"They won't compare. No one will ever compare. I can't do that to you. I can't ruin every fuck of your life that way."
"That's such a bullshit cop out," I say. "Just admit it's because of Ty's instructions."
"No," he says. "I like you too much. I can't hurt you that way."
"You like me too much to fuck me?"
"I do."
"You really believe that?"
"Of course." He says it with conviction.
But I'm not sure I believe him.
Chapter Eight
Sienna
Cam finishes every sip of his four-cup French Press. He drinks the way he does everything, with effortless grace.
He never seems like he's trying. Even after a five-mile run. It's like he lives and dies by the motto never let them see you sweat.
Well, not literally.
He's still all sweaty and sleeveless and tempting.
And we're parting for the next twenty-four hours, give or take. He has work to finish, with Ty, I guess, then we're meeting before dinner Sunday to discuss the joint bachelor/bachelorette party.
It's in exactly one week and we don't have a single hard plan. We've spent the last few weeks trading ideas, from dick shaped straws to custom pornography, but nothing is written in stone.
Honestly, I don't get the point of a bachelor party. Maybe it works for a guy who sees marriage as a prison, but Ty is obsessed with my sister. And she's over the moon. She gets stars in her eyes anytime she hears the words Ty or wedding or gown or honeymoon.
She's happy.
He's rich.
It's smart to nail that down.
Sure, it changes things. I guess it's sweet that Ty is worried about me, but I'm fine. I've been through way worse. My dad died when I was a kid. And my mom fell apart after.
Indigo stepped up to take care of us. She made sure there was always food on the table and clean clothes in the closet.
I did what I could, but she insisted I put soccer first.
Back then, with our limited means, soccer was my way out. I was good enough for a full scholarship to a Division I school. Which meant four years to study math and find a grad school program with a generous stipend.
Then Mom died and everything really fell apart.
And, somehow, Ty swooped into her life exactly when she needed him.
She loves him, and she's incredibly satisfied.
Sure, I miss living in the same place, watching reality marathons every Saturday afternoon, grabbing boba tea on the way home after school, being the number one person in her life.
But how can I complain about Ty paying my rent? Okay, yes, it comes with invisible strings. I don't like that.
But a one-bedroom to myself? A closet full of nice clothes? A fridge packed with fresh food?
I eat at the best restaurants in New York City when I'm with them. I can live with a dress code and a little too much lovey dovey talk.
I'm glad Indigo is living her life, finding love, reclaiming her passion for music.
There's no reason to be upset about that change.
There's no reason to throw a party claiming it's a bad thing.
But if she wants a party, she gets a party. I'm not missing the chance to embarrass her. Or Ty.
The man wears a poker face. If I can really get him to crack—
That will be something.
I let my thoughts wander on the walk home.
My apartment is clean (ish) and quiet. It's my space. The first thing in my life that's really mine.
Only it's not mine. It's Ty's. I'm a visitor.
And that…
Whatever.
I push the thought aside as I step into the shower. It's a big space, with new stainless steel appliances and perfect water pressure.