Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
The lady behind the register smiled when I placed my item on the counter. Then she said something in French. I stood there, staring at her like I was an imbecile, until Vance stepped up beside me and rattled off an answer. Hearing French roll off his tongue in that deep, gravelly voice of his did things. He could have honestly said he’d murdered seventeen women and stuffed their bodies into a woodchipper, and it wouldn’t have mattered. My thighs would have still clenched.
The box of condoms dropped to the counter. My gaze shifted from the extra-large rubbers to him. Was he serious? He was buying them? Was that some veiled threat? His way of telling me, “I remember what you said last night, and I dare you.”
My stomach flip-flopped with the idea of his pinning me underneath his large frame while he drove into me.
“Your cheeks are red.” He grinned like the arrogant asshole he was before he pulled his wallet from his pocket. “Why are your cheeks red, Blake?”
Because I’d just imagined impaling myself on his dick. My attention flicked down to the box.
He took his receipt and shoved it into his pocket before leaning down by my ear. “Thought I might need them in case you aren’t drunk when you try to fuck me.”
Kill me now.
Smirking his most bastard of a smirk, he took the bag from the counter, then turned for the door. I watched him walk out, my heart pounding in my chest. He’d just bought condoms and basically said, the better to fuck you with, my dear, like some sort of sexy Big Bad Wolf.
What the hell was I supposed to do? I pulled my phone from my pocket, typed out a text to Margot asking for help, and then promptly deleted it. She was not the person to ask for advice if I didn’t want to fuck him.
Swiping a hand over my face, I headed toward the pharmacie exit. My attention drifted through the shop window to Vance. The bastard looked like a guy someone would slap on the cover of a romance book. Tall. Ripped. Angular features. Blazing eyes that could peer into a woman’s soul and pluck out every sordid desire. And those lips… I wanted to believe I was strong enough to hold my ground, but who was I kidding? I wasn’t. Trying not to screw him would be akin to trying not to stare when I drove past a terrible wreck. I knew I shouldn’t look; I knew it would traumatize me; I knew it was wrong, but no matter how hard I tried, at the very last second, I’d look. Terrible decisions were ingrained in my personality, and since a leopard never changes his spots…
“Shit,” I breathed, pushing open the door and stepping onto the sidewalk beside Mr. Fuckable just as he pulled the bandages from the bag.
He stared blankly at the bright-green box. “What the fuck are these?”
“They were the only ones they had.”
“I am not sticking these—” he shook the box in his hand, and the bandages rattled around inside—“on my forehead.”
I took the package from him, tore it open, and took out a bandage. “Okay,” I said, peeling the paper away from the ridiculous-looking sticker. “I will then.” Then I slapped the Avo-Cato bandage on his forehead.
“You did not just do that.”
“You let me…”
He turned to the pharmacie window, checking his reflection with a furrowed brow. “Absolutely not.” When he went to pull off the colorful bandage, I slapped his hand away.
“Leave it alone.”
“It looks ridiculous.”
“It looks fun. Don’t be a ballsack.”
He lifted a brow, crinkling the edge of the avocado. “A ballsack?”
“Most idiots would say, ‘Don’t be a pussy,’ but vaginas are resilient. They facilitate birth. I could thump you in the testicles and you’d fall to the ground in tears. Hence, don’t be weak like a ballsack.”
Dimples popped as he fought a smile. “I know of a really good place to get brunch.”
A few blocks later, we came to a small line of café tables tucked underneath a blue and white striped awning. Vance stopped beside a wooden patio table and pulled out a chair for me. I’d never had a man pull out my chair before, and I almost hated that it made me a little giddy. Almost…
I glanced at the sign above the door of the restaurant in front of me as I took my seat. “American Breakfast?”
“Yep.” He sank to the seat across from me, then dug his phone from his pocket.
“Are you one of those people who doesn’t venture outside of their comfort zone when it comes to food? Because I’m planning to experience some amazing French cuisine while we’re here, not an All-American Grand Slam Griddle Plate.”
“I’m very adventurous with food, thank you.” He snapped a picture of the QR code adhered to the table, then passed his phone over to me so I could look at the menu. “But le petit déjeuner consists of a croissant and jam, and that will not get rid of this hangover.”