Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 131330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“Why are you so eager?” I ask, peeling off my Grinch pajamas on the way to the bathroom. Becs is undoubtedly going to pick my outfit for the night, and I can guarantee nearly every inch of my skin will be exposed. But I can’t lie, Becs has incredible taste when it comes to fashion. If her business degree doesn’t work out, I’m sure she could have an incredible career as a stylist if she ever chose to go down that road.
Becs follows me into the bathroom, hovering at the mirror as I step into the shower. “Just trust me,” she says as I turn on the taps and wait for the water to warm. “I don’t want to give anything away, otherwise, I’ll never get you out of here. All I’m saying is that it’s a new club and super exclusive. This guy I know works the bar every Friday night and was able to get an invite with a plus one, so we’re checking it out.”
“Shit? Really?” I ask, stepping into the water and letting it cascade over my head like a waterfall. The idea of attending an exclusive club fills me with deep curiosity. “What kind of club is it?”
“That’s the part I can’t tell you,” she says, meeting my gaze through the mirror, her honey-brown eyes darkening with excitement.
Ahh crap. That’s not good.
“Then what can you tell me?” I say, lathering shampoo through my thick chestnut hair while hoping like fuck I remembered to buy new razors.
“Just that you’re going to have an incredible night. And for your sake, I really hope you take advantage of what’s on offer. Push your limits, maybe even try something you’ve never done before.”
The fuck?
“I—wait,” I grunt, my face scrunching up. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I question, trying to make sense of what she just said. It’s not like I’ve never been to a club before. How many different experiences could I possibly be having tonight?
Becs laughs and makes her way out of the bathroom. “My lips are sealed,” she sings, her eyes sparkling with silent laughter. “And hurry up. I’ll pick you something cute to wear, and I promise you, by the time the night is over, Izaac Banks will be a distant memory.”
And with that, she’s gone.
Izaac Banks.
God, just his name makes my stomach roil with butterflies.
He’s been my brother’s best friend since before I can remember. My brother, Austin, is six years older than me, and for as long as I can remember, he and Izaac have been tied at the hip, causing havoc everywhere they go. Every childhood memory I have of Austin also includes Izaac. He’s part of the furniture, practically family. Only, that’s the problem. To Izaac, I’m just a kid, a little sister he’s always looked out for, but to me, that’s never been the case.
I’ve been mesmerized by him since I was ten years old. I was a little girl with one hell of a crush. He’s always been the whole damn sky to me. The perfect chiseled abs, with the most delicious devilish grin. The only problem is, he’s also the perfect definition of a walking red flag.
Ha. The only problem. Who am I kidding? There’s a shitload more problems than just that. There’s a whole list of problems that come along with why Izaac will never want me. Hell, the fact that he’s Austin’s best friend is a big one. Every other reason doesn’t even matter when that big one sits at the very top of the list.
The women Izaac dates are gorgeous, freaking supermodels, and when he looks at me . . . I see it. Pity. Despite being twenty-two, he still sees me as his best friend’s pathetic little sister who has drooled over him for most of her life.
Everything about him should have me running for the hills, yet every time that dark, wicked stare lands on me, my knees go weak. There’s not a damn thing he can do that’s ever sent me running in the opposite direction, not even walking in on him screwing some random woman two Christmases ago. I just keep holding on to the hope that maybe one day, something might change.
Like I said—pathetic.
I’d give anything to have him think of me in the way that I think of him. But after sitting on the sideline for twelve years, I’ve realized that’s never going to happen.
Being the world to Izaac Banks is nothing but a stupid, unrealistic dream—one I need to hurry up and burn, preferably without leaving any scars.
Ten minutes later, I stand in my cramped bathroom, my clean-shaven body wrapped in a towel as I furiously try to dry my hair, but that’s the problem with thick hair, it takes a whole damn village to tame.
“Check it out,” Becs says, standing in the open doorway, juggling my black leather mini-skirt and thigh-high boots with a sequin triangle top looped over her finger.