Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
I’m dressed for work in cute flare jeans, and a flower-print shirt. I lift my nose to draw a satisfying inhale, savoring the smell of the food and the sight of two shirtless men.
“Never cook with shirts on,” I say.
“We’ll start a band. The Shirtless Chefs,” Chase says.
“Name’s probably taken though. All the good ones are,” Ryker says, plating some scrambled eggs.
I move between them, grabbing a mug, then Chase slaps my wrist. “We’re serving you. Sit. Now.”
I hold up my hands in surrender. “All right, all right. But why?” I ask as I settle in at the counter. “I hardly did anything today.”
He huffs, deliberately over the top. “You did the most work in bed,” he says, and I scoff.
“I was tied up.”
“It’s a lot of work for the woman.”
Ryker arches a brow as he grabs two slices of sourdough bread from the toaster. “Have you been studying the caloric output of various threesome positions?”
“No. I’ve been participating in a lab experiment, you jackass,” Chase says, and their boyish insults make me smile. “And my conclusion is this—it’s more work for the woman than the men. So the least we can do is feed you and take care of you.”
I shrug happily. “Works for me. I like food.”
And so does the beggar dog at my feet, who clearly wants me to drop a piece of my egg. I shoo Nacho back to his bed, then return to the stool. The guys come around to the island counter and sit on each side of me. Ryker drops a kiss to my cheek, then hums, sounding deliciously happy. It’s the first time he’s seemed fully relaxed outside of bed, like he’s letting go of some of his hard shell.
Chase plants a kiss on my other cheek. “I like it better when we all get along,” he says, and my heart goes a little fluttery.
Okay, a lot.
“Same here,” Ryker says, and I know it costs them something to admit this. Their shared vulnerability makes me feel all soft for them, like I’m made of flutters as I savor their morning attention.
“We only have a few more days left. Let’s make the most of them,” Chase adds, and…the flutters die a hard death.
“We will,” I say, trying to sound chipper, but likely failing. I don’t want to think about Monday morning when I move out and they head off to their next series. Chase travels to New York, then Boston; Ryker to Seattle. They’ll be far away, and I’ll be moving into a studio.
Best to focus on the here and now. I pick up my fork and dig in with a “Yes, let’s do that.” Then I shift gears. “Is everything set up for the online auction?” I ask since Chase has organized all the details.
He grabs his phone, checks something, and shows me the screen with a ticking clock. I try not to think of our ticking clock. “Went live this morning as planned.”
“Damn. Look at those bids already,” Ryker says, peering at the screen too. “You’re going to bring in a nice haul for Little Friends.”
“I’m so excited about that,” I say. The funny thing is we planned this as “revenge for charity” but now it just feels like a fun thing that belongs to us. It’s our project, and Jasper has nothing to do with it.
As Ryker scrolls through the bids, an idea pops into my head. “What if we share it on your social feed?” I suggest, enthused. “It’ll help with your agent’s goals and your goals.”
He gives a crooked grin. “Your brain is seriously sexy,” he says, then takes out his phone, unlocks it, and hands it to me. A few seconds later, I’m posting about the auction on his news feed, then handing him back the phone.
Which reminds me, we have one more “moment” planned as part of his reputation makeover. “Don’t forget we’re seeing your grandma tomorrow at lunch.”
“Dude. Say hi to Dorothy for me,” Chase says, chiming in. “She cleaned up last time I played poker with her.”
“She always does,” Ryker says.
And more flutters come my way over how they talk about Ryker’s grandma. Evidently, just having breakfast and normal conversation with them on a random Wednesday is a romantic risk. But a pounding makes me hungry so I tuck into the eggs again.
As we eat, Chase’s phone buzzes. He picks it up. “Might be my mom.”
“Aww, such a momma’s boy,” Ryker teases.
“Pot. Kettle,” Chase taunts back, then his brow knits as he reads the screen. “Huh.”
I snap my gaze to him. Huh doesn’t sound good. “What is it?” I hope he’s not checking out press reports after the last two losses. That can’t be good for his stress levels.
But Chase quickly erases his frown as he looks Ryker’s way. “It’s just this Sea Dogs fan account. They picked up the pic of you at Trina’s store yesterday and mentioned her.”