Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Unlike most people who talk when they're nervous, I say nothing, waiting for him to talk because surely he's going to say something.
But I'm wrong.
Drake doesn't say anything, not a word.
Instead, his hands go for my waist, and he closes the distance between us by pulling me in so I'm standing between his spread legs while he rests his hips against the counter like a cowboy leaning against a fence.
We stare at each other, my eyes roaming over his face.
His handsome face.
The chiseled jawline; the square chin with the small dent in it.
Unlike Drew, Drake hasn’t shaved in a few days, the stubble on his chin creating a shadow that darkens his features, making him look dangerous and serious. Like the kind of guy who would close the door on a bathroom and have his way with someone…
“I…” He clears his throat. “Missed you.”
The air crackles.
“Missed me?” I whisper. “But I just saw you two seconds ago.”
Drake has nothing to say to that, instead moving his hands from my waist, up the side of my rib cage, then smoothing them down my back.
So this is what we’re going to do then. Pretend I have no idea which brother he is while he stands here pretending to be his twin?
Great.
Fine.
If this is how he wants it to be, so be it.
Part of me is furious he’s up here behind his brother’s back, though I suspect as soon as Drew saw Drake follow me, he knew exactly what his brother’s intentions were.
Which reminds me…
“How can you miss me if I wasn’t really gone?”
I’m whispering again, afraid of my own voice, terrified it might not work if I try to speak like a normal person.
“Daisy.”
He’s cupping my face now, looking down at me as if he hasn’t seen me in weeks, months, it’s the most peculiar expression. No man has ever looked at me this way before, certainly no one who looks and acts like Drake Colter, one whom does and says what he wants.
“What?” I purse my lips playfully, heart thumping outside of my chest matching the beat of music blasting from the sound system downstairs.
Drake’s large hands move over my shoulder, slowly sliding up the column of my neck, cupping my jaw. His thumbs stroke my cheeks.
“Don’t let me kiss you,” he says at last, swallowing a lump in his throat.
He sounds so ominous and so unlike himself.
“Why?”
His head gives a shake. “Because.”
Because.
The last time I used “because” as a legitimate argument was when I was seven and in a debate with my parents, who laughed at me before sending me to my room, as one-word responses did nothing but set them off; this one from Drake does nothing to soften me.
“You have to do better than that.” My voice is faint.
“I can’t.”
thirty
drake
Being single is an attitude.
My intention was not to follow her up here to the bathroom, but before I could think twice about it, my body moved toward the door, my legs propelling me forward—much to Karla’s surprise.
And it hadn’t taken any convincing to get the key from Benny, the worst custodian of keys I’ve ever seen.
“Don’t let me kiss you,” I’m telling Daisy, my voice hoarse and caught in my throat.
“Why?”
I give my head a shake. “Because.”
“You have to do better than that.”
“I can’t.”
It’s the damnedest thing, this pull to her that I have. This urge that I have to kiss her—I guess I consider myself a primal person. After football games, I’m filled with adrenaline; adrenaline that makes me want to fuck or go for a jog around the block or do one hundred push-ups before bed.
Never have I ever thought that I would feel primal toward one particular person.
Someone I just met.
“Well,” Daisy whispers. “You better lock the door then.”
…better lock the door then.
The way she says it; the way her eyes flicker to the door handle and the lock, with one brow arched.
Cocky.
One side of my mouth curves into a smile. “I’d better lock the door, huh.”
Her head goes up and down slowly.
Why hadn’t I thought of locking the door when I’d stalked through it? ’Cause I hadn’t actually intended to bust in on her like a freaking Neanderthal, that’s why. All I’d wanted to do was talk to her—not corner her. But she’d looked up at me with those big doe eyes, lips a glossy pink, and I’d blurted out that I’ve been missing her.
Miss her?
Fuck yes, I missed her, and it’s been killing me, seeing her with my brother, listening to them laugh, seeing them at this party with their heads bent together.
What the hell had they been giggling about?
Door locked, I pull her back between my spread legs, fingers grazing the soft skin of her neck—the simple black shirt she’s wearing is cold-shouldered and sexy, baring everything down to her cleavage. She’s tan, too.