Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Everywhere I went in my place, I had a bird’s eye view of Pittsburgh and beyond.
However, I wasn’t feeling the same excitement with my date as he did when it came to my penthouse. As Josh wandered around taking it all in with his mouth hanging open and a gleam in his eye, I knew he was all wrong for me. Even for a one-night-stand.
Instead of twelve years, it seemed more like two decades separated us. But it wasn’t just his age causing the disconnect.
With his slim build, his narrow shoulders and baby face, Josh was so opposite of Tate. That was probably why I had tapped on his photo in the app. Why would I pick someone who reminded me of the man I was trying to forget?
I wouldn’t.
But now I was stuck with someone I really didn’t want.
Like with my plan to run into Tate, I messed up by bringing home a Grindr date.
I knew it. Josh did not.
Either I had to grit my teeth and go for it, or acknowledge my mistake and cut my losses. But I could at least soften the blow.
Though, I questioned if that was possible when Josh yanked off his shirt and tossed it onto a chair before rushing over to me. “Bedroom?”
“Why don’t we have a drink first?” Before you pull off your shorts next and streak down the hallway naked. “What would you like?”
“What do you have? Hell, you probably have everything.”
The door lock wasn’t the only thing “smart.” Everything in my penthouse I could set up to be voice-activated, or at least controlled by a remote, I did. Having grown up in a lower class working family, we couldn’t even afford a security system, forget modern technology.
“Alfred, open the bar,” I called out to my home system.
Josh’s eyebrows launched up his forehead. “Alfred? Like Batman’s butler?”
“Exactly like that,” I murmured, heading over to the now-exposed bar that had slid out of my wall between the chef’s kitchen and the dining area.
“Does it make the drinks, too?” he asked on a laugh, following me.
“Now that would be an idea,” I answered, plastering on a smile and trying to pull myself out of the funk I was in by seeing Tate.
Josh bumped shoulders with me as we stood side-by-side looking at my vast selection of liquor. “Or you could just pay someone to live here and serve you.”
I blinked.
I had a house cleaner who came in once a week. I also had a chef from a very popular restaurant downtown have his staff drop off meals that I could enjoy throughout the week when I wasn’t in the mood to cook my own. But have someone actually live in my place with me full-time?
No.
And if I did, it wouldn’t be some random Grindr hookup. That was just asking for me to be murdered in my sleep. Or have my whole penthouse cleaned out when I wasn’t home.
“What do you want?”
Josh squeezed my ass cheek. “Besides you?”
“To drink,” I clarified.
His green eyes again raked over my selection. “Umm. Vodka soda?”
Very original, I thought dryly, then suggested, “Why don’t you grab a seat on the couch?” when he became even more handsy.
Guilt was starting to wash over me for wasting his time by keeping him here even this long. But I didn’t want to be rude and also didn’t want to throw him out like he was spoiled food.
When he wandered back to the stretch of windows, I blew out a quiet breath and grabbed the bottle of Belvedere. After mixing a vodka soda on the rocks, I carried it over to where he stood with both his hands, as well as his forehead, pressed to the glass as he watched the world go by below.
Those marks on the windows would normally bother me but I let it go. Luckily, Mondays were when my housekeeper showed up to clean. It was also the one day a week I made myself scarce and usually headed into my “official” office I kept at Pak Property Management.
“Josh.”
He straightened and I handed him the drink. Since my hands were now empty, his brow dropped low. “Aren’t you having one?”
I shook my head. “No, but you enjoy.”
“But I want to enjoy you. And I see some of your ink peeking out. I’d love to explore them.”
I sat on the couch and watched my bad decision prowl around the open area, sipping on his drink, checking out the art that I purchased to support local LGBTQ+ artists, and even thumbing through a couple of the books I had on my marble coffee table.
Eventually, he flopped down beside me and hooked a bare arm around my neck, pressing his naked, hairless chest to my arm. “Hey, are we going to have sex? Or…”
Or…
Or what? “What” was the answer. I just needed to find an easy way to break it to him.