Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
I want to see him.
So pathetic. I should be enjoying what’s left of my evening with my book and the sound of the rain on the windows, but instead, I’m obsessing over the broody roommate who walked away after I threw myself at him.
I poke around at my ice cream some more, taking another bite and savoring the coldness on my tongue and the smoothness of it sliding down my throat.
I’m glad there’s no scale here. I’ve probably gained five pounds since moving in, maybe more with all the strength training I’ve been doing. But truth be told, I don’t mind. Chuck always pushed me to be thinner, but I was starting to feel scrawny and weak.
And Oliver doesn’t seem to mind these extra pounds. I catch him looking at me, and I like it, but for once in my life I’m not choosing my food based on what someone else thinks my body should look like. I’m just feeding my body, sometimes to make it stronger and sometimes because food is delicious. It’s so fucking liberating.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy Oliver’s eyes on me when I come out for coffee in the mornings in nothing but a T-shirt and panties. I’ve been picking my pajamas based on how much ass they show. I never cared much before—any T-shirt would do—but now, the shorter the better. And tonight, I’m not hiding a damn thing below the waist. With the excuse of having the apartment to myself, I’m dressed in nothing but a skimpy cotton thong and a fitted tank top that barely grazes my navel.
I straighten at the sound of the elevator and put my bowl down on the coffee table. He’s finally home.
“Don’t panic,” I hear him say from beyond the front door. “It will open. It just sticks sometimes.”
He’s talking to someone. Did he bring a woman home?
I look around, suddenly super regretful of this outfit choice. I glance toward the bedroom. Could I get in there before the door opens? Or maybe he was planning on using his bed tonight.
The door opens before I can make a decision, and Oliver stumbles in, his arm wrapped around a guy I’ve never seen before. They’re both soaked from the rain.
His friend spots me on the couch and his eyes go wide. “You must be Savannah,” he says, grinning.
I look back and forth between the stranger and Oliver.
“Savannah, meet Eddie. Eddie, Savannah,” Oliver says.
I clear my throat, well aware that the polite thing to do in this moment would be to stand and shake the man’s hand. Except this blanket is the only thing allowing me to hold on to my last shreds of dignity. A thong and a tank top. Why am I just full of brilliant ideas? “Hey, Eddie.” I put my book to the side and flit my fingers in a pathetic wave.
“Your man here is pretty banged up after tonight,” Eddie says.
“What happened?”
Eddie guides Oliver to a chair, and Oliver grimaces as he lowers himself into it, pressing his hand to his side.
When he turns to me and I see the other side of his face, I gasp. His cheek is swollen and his eye is puffy—discolored in a way that tells me it’s going to be covered in a dark bruise by morning.
“What happened?”
He leans back, exposing his blood-soaked shirt. I jump off the couch, sending blankets falling to the floor, and run to the kitchen, where I open and close cabinets until I find a washcloth.
“Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“Nah,” Oliver says. “It’s just a cut.”
Just a cut my ass. He looks like he was jumped.
I wet the cloth with hot water and am headed back to the living room before I realize both guys are staring at me. I stop in my tracks. Oliver, despite his condition, is smirking.
How can a smirk on a bloodied man still look so damn sexy?
“What?” I ask, though I already know. His eyes keep drifting down to my legs, reminding me of what I’m wearing and exactly why. Of course, I had no idea Eddie would be coming home with him.
“You know what,” Oliver says, leaning back and grimacing as he shifts in the chair. He sighs. “I’m sure Eddie appreciates the show as much as I do, but I’m going to have to punch him if he keeps gawking at you like that, so if you wanna put something on, you’d be doing us both a favor.”
Eddie chuckles softly and shrugs as if to say, Can you blame me?
“Fucking close your eyes when she turns around, Gaines,” Oliver grumbles.
Eddie puts a hand over his eyes. “I promise I won’t look.” He peeks at me between two fingers. “But, like, nice . . . shirt.”
“Face the fucking wall,” Oliver says, but there’s a lightness to his tone I wouldn’t expect. One that tells me he doesn’t feel threatened by Eddie.