Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
She presses her lips together. “Right.”
“So what did you tell her?”
“That I failed. What else was I going to tell her?”
“You could have made up fake test questions.”
She pauses on the stairs. “I didn’t think of that.”
“How much time did she give you?”
“Are you sure you weren’t there?”
“Blackmailers aren’t very inventive.” If I leaned forward about a foot, I could kiss her ass. It’s round and bouncy and making my dick hard.
“She wants the tests. I guess I’ll make one up like you said. What’s it like? An SAT test?” She taps a finger against her bottom lip. “Multiple choice? God, this sounds like a lot of work. I’ll look something up online and copy it. Thanks for the advice.” Done with our conversation, she starts climbing again.
“This place is a hellhole,” she mutters under her breath.
“Eight flights is good exercise.”
“I’d rather have an elevator. I can work out in my bedroom.”
“I’ll help you.”
“Right.”
I don’t even have to see her face to know she’s rolling her eyes. She stops in front of her door and turns to me. “My brother thinks we’re dating.”
“Looks like you’re the beauty and he’s the brains.”
She punches me in the gut, and it kinda hurts and it’s kinda sexy.
“Don’t even say it.”
“What?”
“That I look good upset.”
“You want me to lie now?”
“It’s cliché.”
“For a reason. Your cheeks are flushed. Your eyes are bright. You’re breathing faster than normal. Basically you looked turned on.” I take a step closer until my thigh is practically wedged between her legs. “Maybe you are.”
The door opens before she can respond, making her fall backward. Over her head, I see a scowling Mick Murphy.
Chapter Twelve
LAUREN
Griff sets up in the kitchen, opening cabinets and pulling out pans and utensils like he owns the place. Mick watches it all with sullen dislike.
“What did you do today?”
He remains silent.
“Having a hard time finding a job, huh?” Griff says as he heats up the frying pan.
“What do you know?” Mick juts his chin out.
“I know that hiring managers will overlook an assault charge easier than a theft one because if you’re stealing from someone else, you’ll be stealing from them. Doesn’t matter if you’re applying for a job to deliver a ten dollar meal or selling securities. Actually I take that back. The higher the value of the item you’re selling, the more they’d be willing to overlook your crimes.”
“So I just need to get to Wall Street trader level and all’s good.”
“Yep, but getting there is the problem. In order to sit for the Series E license, you have to have a clean record. In other words, you have to start your life of crime after you’re on the trading floor, not before.” Griff dumps the steaks onto the hot pan. Mick drifts closer.
“So what now? My life is over? You sending me to boot camp or something?”
“Do I look like a guy who’d send you to military school?”
“Yes,” both Mick and I say.
“You too?” Griff shoots me a wounded, accusatory look.
“Yes.”
He shrugs. “Okay, you got me. I did think that four years at the Citadel would straighten you out. Or maybe just twelve weeks at boot camp, but your sister probably would scoop my balls out with a dull spoon if I even suggested it. As you’re probably aware, I’m sweet on your sister, so I’m trying to avoid her being pissed off at me.”
“You’re losing that battle,” Mick smirks. He’s practically standing at Griff’s elbow now, not acting as if Griff’s his mortal enemy.
I don’t know whether to be relieved or betrayed.
“Why do you even like her?”
Oh, it’s betrayed. I throw a slipper at his head, which he easily ducks. It hits Griff in the back, though. Mick laughs like a hyena.
“Because she’s the kind of girl to throw a slipper at your head when she feels like it.”
“Bro, there are other girls out there. Nice ones. Ones that are prettier, have more money.”
“Getting turned down a lot?” Griff replies. “Probably because you’re jobless.”
“I’m nineteen. I’m supposed to be jobless.”
Griff stays silent at that even though there’s an easy comeback. He stays busy breaking herbs over the steaks. I pour three glasses of water and leave two of them to the guys before taking the last one with me to the living room. My apartment is small enough that I can pretend to read a book and still hear everything going on in the kitchen.
“No snarky response like ‘I was working three jobs when I was nineteen.’” Mick tries to deepen his voice to match Griff’s.
“I was in the military at nineteen. It was either that or prison.”
I nearly drop my book. Mick responds the same only with words. “The fuck?”
“Language,” Griff chides.
“No, the fuck is really the right response,” I call.
Mick gives me a thumbs-up of solidarity, which I return. The Murphy siblings standing together.