Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 99623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“Hey, stop.” I reach for her, but she curls her body into the door. “Emmalyn, baby, listen.”
“Did you just call me baby?”
“Look at me.” Slowly, she relaxes back into her seat. “I’m sorry. For my behavior at that party and for upsetting you now.”
“Are you really?” Her voice is equal parts hurt and disbelief.
No, not really. “Of course. I was an asshole. New leaf, remember?”
She sucks in a few measured breaths. “Okay. Let’s go.”
“Are you sure?”
With a shrug, Emmalyn unbuckles and opens her door. “Nope, but let’s go anyway.”
I follow after her, catching up a few paces away from where we parked. “I promise to make tonight better, that you’ll have fun. Okay?”
“If you say so.”
Difficult little mouse. I interlace our fingers and she gasps softly. “I do, and I mean it.”
* * *
My eyes water as the overbearing scent of too many sweaty bodies, cheap perfumes, and stale pot smoke greet us the moment we open the door. All around us is debauchery at its best.
Bodies writhe together on the dance floor, moving like a mass of tangled serpents while onlookers chug their liquid courage before joining the fray.
“Whoa,” Emmalyn whispers, practically skidding to a halt.
I stumble a little at our sudden change in momentum, wrapping an arm around her middle to keep us both standing.
Her soft planes press into my hard ones, and for a moment, I’m lost in her scent, sweet and soft and so fucking feminine, as it overrides everything else around me.
With music pumping, drinks flowing, inhibitions lowering, and Emmalyn Price in my arms, all I can think of is what kind of secrets the tempting little liar might spill, if given the right... motivation.
“You okay?” I ask, denying myself the pleasure of burying my face in the crook of her neck.
“Yeah, um. Yes.” She wiggles in my hold, her pert ass rubbing against me in a way that sends fire racing through my veins. “This is just a lot to take in.”
“Looks like your typical football party.” I shrug behind her. “I’m honestly shocked everyone still has their clothes on.”
“What?” She sounds so scandalized I can’t help but laugh. Who knew Princess Price was such a prude?
“Tell me, Emmalyn…” I give in to the temptation and press my lips to the smooth skin of her neck. “Are you really this innocent?”
“I mean, we had parties in high school, but I...”
I can feel her throat work as she swallows.
“I never went to any after my junior year, and those were pretty tame. People drank and smoked and hooked up, but anything really crazy happened behind closed doors. This is so open.”
I crowd her, dragging my hand lower from the dip of her waist down to the hem of the stupid-ass jersey she’s wearing. “Welcome to the big leagues, baby.”
She laughs uncomfortably. “Do you see Stella anywhere?”
“No.” I roll my eyes but scan the room all the same. “Maybe they’re in the kitchen.” Reluctantly, I release her from my hold. “Let’s go look.”
I grab her hand and pull her toward the kitchen, telling myself it’s to keep her close by, and not because I like the way her delicate hand feels in my grasp.
We make it to the kitchen, but the three musketeers are nowhere in sight. “Are you thirsty?”
“Oh, sure.”
I walk her back against the far wall, caging her in with my arms. “Wait here.”
She blinks up at me with her big doe eyes.
“I mean it. Don’t move. Not a single inch.”
“Okay.”
I turn my back toward her and stalk toward the island, which is serving as a makeshift bar. “Sterling!” Emmalyn calls after me, and I glance her way over my shoulder. “I don’t drink alcohol.” She bites her lips and drops her gaze toward the floor for a moment before looking back at me. “Just so you know.”
The cogs in my brain are turning as an idea takes shape. “No worries. I’ll take care of you, Emmalyn.”
With a sure hand, I mix us each a drink, making sure to make hers with extra care.
When I return, Emmalyn’s in a heated conversation with her friends. “Oh, good,” I drawl. “Y’all found us.”
“Where were you?” Gabe asks, his voice ripe with accusation.
“Making drinks.” I hold my hands up and shimmy the cups before passing one to Emmalyn.
Eyeing me, she sniffs the contents. “What’s this?”
“Punch. My own special recipe, just for you.” I wink, softening the thinly veiled deception in my words.
She smiles, taking a hesitant sip. “Mmmm, fruity.”
Our misfit group lapses into an awkward kind of silence until Gabe looks at me and says, “Let’s chat for a minute.”
He’s not asking.
“Sure thing.” If he wants to play this game, we can play it. I come from a long line of lawyers, shit-talking may as well be my third major.
He guides me a few steps away from everyone; close enough to keep an eye on them, but far enough they can’t hear us.