Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 110454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
But just as I step through the doors, my phone buzzes in the pocket of my jacket. When I check the screen, I find a text from the man who’s been taking up a lot of flipping real estate in my head.
Jude: What are you doing right now?
Me: Working a wedding at NoMo.
Jude: Shit. You’re in SoHo? That’s like three blocks from this kick-ass apartment where a guy with an awesome cock is currently sitting with about an hour to waste before he has to head to Club Craze. Think you can sneak out of there and meet him?
I laugh to myself, but then, my face expands—eyebrows, mouth, cheeks—when I think, is he asking me to come to his apartment?
I’ve never been to Jude’s place. Which is definitely creating the urge to actually leave this wedding to meet him.
Me: My assistant might kill me if I skip out on this wedding reception. The bride is a bit of a lunatic.
After I send that message, a question that’s been floating around inside my head for a while makes its way to the forefront of my mind.
Me: Speaking of Club Craze, I have a question for you.
Jude: And what’s that, babe?
Me: Why were you the exotic dancer on the night of my sister’s bachelorette? As I know now, your job is a whole lot more managerial in nature than that.
Jude: Because I can’t resist a bet.
Me: A bet?
Jude: Yep. With Maverick. The guy who was supposed to dance for your sister’s party. He’s a cocky little shit, and I was in the mood to prove myself as the better dancer.
Me: Did you win?
Jude: Technically, yes.
Me: What the hell is that supposed to mean?
Jude: It means, yes, I did win the bet, which revolved around bringing in more tips than Maverick—most of it was thanks to a tall, handsy chick at your sister’s party who shoved like three hundred bucks in my underwear.
I laugh. That was definitely Tonya
Jude: But a gentleman like me never kisses and tells—or, in your case, never makes a fake bride-to-be orgasm during an exotic dance and tells—so I didn’t actually claim the money I was rightfully entitled to.
I don’t know why that revelation makes me feel good, but it does.
Although, there’s also a part of me that isn’t too thrilled over the idea of Jude stripping for other women. Especially when I think about what that dance of his did to me.
Me: And how often do you take bets like that?
Jude: HA. Once and only once, babe. Now, go tell your assistant that you have a very important Secret Club meeting, but you’ll be back before she even misses you.
Me: You’re nuts, sir.
Jude: Nah, babe. I just miss your sweet-as-fuck pussy, and I’m very determined in my support of you earning all those badges.
Damn, he makes it so hard to say no. With my phone pressed to my chest, I glance around the kitchen and see that everything is still in order. And when I step back through the door and into the main venue area, I note that Julie looks relaxed and hasn’t developed that weird vein in her forehead that only comes when she’s about to lose her fucking mind.
But can I really sneak out of here for an hour?
Oh yes, you can, and you’re already figuring out how you will.
Next thing I know, I’m sending a text confirmation that showcases my possible lunacy.
Me: What’s your address?
Sophie
“Damn, baby, you look good all dressed up for work,” Jude says the instant I step foot into his apartment. “Like a fuckhot librarian or something.”
I glance down at my cream silk blouse and formfitting blush pencil skirt and jacket and laugh.
But also, I’m too inquisitive to see what Jude’s apartment looks like not to shift my focus and walk around his place a little.
It’s big. Bigger than mine. Clean, sophisticated, and minimalist in style, the smartly decorated space matches him to a T. It’s a bachelor pad, so to speak, but it’s also very cozy.
In the living room, there’s a plush velvet sectional with big cushy pillows that sits in front of a large flat-screen TV. A couple pieces of art hang on the walls. And the coffee table has a few sports magazines and newspapers scattered across it.
“Your place is really nice,” I comment just as he comes up behind me and places both of his big hands on my ass. He gently squeezes the flesh through my skirt, and the rush of arousal it provides between my thighs is undeniable.
“Not as nice as this ass of yours.”
I glimpse over my shoulder to find him smirking down at me.
“Did your assistant get pissed when you told her you had to leave to go ride a stallion?”
I scrunch up my nose. “Oh…was I supposed to say stallion? I told her it was a pony.”