Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
The energy around us shifts, swirling around as if announcing something … or someone. My stomach twists in response, and I sit up, curious. My curiosity grows deeper at the amusement on Jeremiah’s face.
“What?” I ask, my brows pulled together.
“Remember that we have a peace treaty,” he says.
I heave a breath and drag my attention inch by inch back to the patio just in time to catch Ripley stepping onto the concrete.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
He runs a hand through his hair. His chin tilts slightly down as he looks at me through his thick lashes and watches me warily.
I keep my gaze trained on his face and not on how his board shorts emphasize his powerful, muscular body. Asshole.
He walks toward us with a nonchalance that burns me.
“Jeremiah.” I say his name so sharp that it could cut glass. “Consider our treaty null and void.”
“But I got you sandwiches,” he says, almost singsong-ing the sentence. “And a blondie. I know you love blondies.”
“Yes, I do.” Ripley stops next to his friend, smiling smugly. “Ladies, I would say that I’m sorry for interrupting, but I’m not a liar.”
Sutton stares holes in the side of my face, so I bite my tongue instead of calling him out.
“Are you hungry?” Jeremiah asks. “I’m starving. I got out of here early this morning and haven’t eaten a bite today.”
Sutton hops to her feet. “Jeremiah. You should’ve woken me up, and I would’ve fixed you something.”
“I’m a grown-up who can fix his own breakfast. And you were sleeping too peacefully to bother.”
“Let’s get you some food,” she says. “Do you want to eat, Georgia?”
“Yeah. Let’s head in. I’m baking out here, anyway.”
Jeremiah wraps a hand around her and leads her to the house … leaving Ripley and me behind.
“For the record, I had no idea you were going to be here,” Ripley says, his gaze raking down my body as I stand.
I flash him the dirtiest look I can muster. One that could freeze hell. I’m sure he renders women speechless when he appreciates their bodies, but not me. I couldn’t give a shit if he likes what he sees or not.
But, if he wants to look, I’ll give him a show … and then embarrass him for it.
I bend slowly to grab my tumbler, the weight of his attention heavy on my ass. So predictable.
“Staring is rude, Mr. Brewer,” I say.
“It’s kind of hard to miss.”
I gasp, spinning around to face him. My face flushes in embarrassment. “And exactly what is that supposed to mean?”
“What do you think it means?”
“If it means what I think it means, you can fuck off.”
He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “It means your ass was in my face with a scrap of fabric barely covering anything. What do you want me to do?”
“Not making assholish comments about it would be an excellent start.”
“I … no. Nope. I’m not going there.” He grinds his teeth together and shakes his head. A growl rumbles through the air. “You could literally turn anything into an argument.”
“I’m not sure what sort of a reply you were after when you basically insinuated that my ass was so big you couldn’t ignore it.” My eyes narrow. “Does that angle work for you with other women? Or were you simply trying to be a dick?”
He squares his shoulder to mine and peers down at me. His eyes are lasered in on my face, making me gasp from the intensity.
“Or let’s try this,” he says, lifting a brow cockily. “What reaction were you after when you intentionally bent over in front of me? Just kidding. I don’t have to ask. I know that gets men’s attention. So am I right to think you were trying to get mine?”
You bastard. I ball my free hand at my side.
“Oh, did I hit a nerve?” His soft voice is mocking. Amusement dances across his stupidly handsome face. “Did you get called out for wanting—practically begging—for my attention?”
“Please,” I say. “If you want to know the truth, I think you wanted my attention, and that’s why you were staring, which, may I add, doesn’t really jive with your fake I’m-such-a-gentleman persona. You should work on that.”
My heart pounds as sweat from the heat, anger, and a little embarrassment trickles down my chest.
I’m most angry that the fucker is right—I did want his attention. The problem is that he thinks I wanted it because I think it’s a trophy. The great Ripley Brewer likes my ass. And while that is a small, tiny feather in my cap, that wasn’t the reason for my actions.
I wanted to have the upper hand.
“There are many things I need to work on, Miss Hayes, but my gentleman persona is not one of them.” He rolls his head around his shoulders. “I should’ve turned around and left as soon as I saw you.”