Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 98021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
"You've played nice at plenty of dinners."
"I have?"
"Last month. The guy with the clothing empire. He barely looked up from your tits."
"I was scowling the whole time."
"He couldn't tell. He wasn't looking at your face."
A laugh spills from her lips. "True."
"You had them out. He couldn't help it."
"I was wearing reasonable dinner attire. It's ridiculous. If I cover up, I'm uptight. If I show too much skin, I'm a slut."
"No one thinks you're a slut."
"But you—"
"I get your point. It is bullshit."
"It's the world." She turns to me, her back to the view. "I could have chosen a different field."
"A less attention grabbing hairstyle."
"If it grabs so much attention, why are guys staring at my boobs?"
"That's a good point."
She motions see.
"But if I may speak for people who enjoy breasts—"
"Can I stop you?"
"Yours are really fucking nice."
"How do you know?"
My eyes flit to her chest. "I know."
"You haven't seen them."
"Is that an offer?"
She doesn't tell me to fuck off the way she normally does. She blushes. Looks to the door. "In your dreams."
"Hopefully."
It hangs there in the air.
The offer.
Her blush.
My blood rushing to my cock.
Baseball. People think about baseball. But I don't know shit about baseball.
Simon's disapproval.
Adam's concern.
The pride on Preston's face.
The tone of his voice. I'm dying.
It's miserable, but it doesn't help. I want to touch her more. To soak in the warmth of her skin and the sweetness of her lips.
The vibrancy of life.
Some primal urge to make more.
I need to get the fuck out of here. But this is my apartment. And Briar is a guest. I can't abandon her on the balcony.
I can't stand here and smell her shampoo.
There's only one place that leads. I need to do something—
That's it.
I swallow my drink in one gulp. Take her empty glass. "Another round?"
"No. I'm wiped. I'm going to hit the hay." Her eyes flit to the hallway. "Is my stuff really here?"
"Yeah." I lead her inside. To the second door on the right. The spare bedroom.
She steps into the space. Notes the clean white sheets, the mahogany dresser, the leather armchair.
Her bright purple duffel sitting in front of the burgundy leather.
"Have I ever clashed so much?" She whips her hair forward. It doesn't suit the room.
She doesn't belong in the room. It's all old money masculine bullshit.
She's not soft and feminine in the way people usually describe it. She's not powder pink and lace.
But she has her own feminine energy. Magenta and sheer mesh and heeled boots.
Punk rock sex appeal.
And the understated side of her. The side she doesn't show to anyone.
I swallow hard. "It's for Adam."
"The decorator nailed him."
"She did." I'm not sure how, since she never met the guy, but she really did capture my brother's energy.
"And you?" She turns to me. "Did she capture you?"
"You've seen the rest."
"Your bedroom?"
"You want to see my bedroom?"
Her cheeks flush. "To see the decorations."
"Only one reason why I invite women into my bedroom."
"Is that a requirement? Really?"
It's an inevitability. "I can make an exception for you, but I can't make any promises about the results."
She looks at me like she can't tell if I'm joking or not. Then she shakes her head. "Maybe tomorrow." She presses her lips to my cheek. "Good night, Liam."
"Good night." I step into the hallway. Pull the door closed. Stare at the handle for too long.
Am I joking?
I can't fucking tell anymore.
My concentration is shot. I try to focus on the TV show I'm watching. Some action thriller with drama and explosions and a plot that requires no brain power. But the female lead makes me think of Briar.
She has the same sharp nose and take no shit energy.
She's not as tall or curvy. Not as compelling. She's too typical. Long blond hair, bright blue eyes, tight leather.
She's hot, sure, but in a plain way. A vanilla latte.
Briar would kill me if she heard me comparing a woman to a drink. That's objectifying, Liam. Women aren't beverages. How'd you like it if I said you were a vanilla latte?
Then she'd roll her eyes when I'd say some stupid shit about being any flavor she likes.
Or not caring as long as it means she wants to drink me.
I don't have a type. I enjoy all sorts of women. Or I did.
Until that night in Toronto. The night we almost kissed, and I started comparing every woman I met to Briar.
No one compares.
I give up on TV, take another shower, change into my pajamas.
I'm not an insomniac. I work hard; I play hard; I come home exhausted.
Not last night. Not with that news.
And not tonight.
Fucking nap.
I toss and turn, trying to push my thoughts away from the matter-of-fact tone of Preston's voice.
My head goes straight to the curiosity in Briar's eyes.
That's all I can think about.
Death and sex.
I'm as fucked up as Adam.
There's only one way I'm falling asleep. One thing that works like a charm.