Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Yikes.
I feel like a creeper for wanting to bring my brave, ridiculous, and scary ex-SEAL stepbrother into my final paper...but what else do you do when the universe drops gold in your lap?
It’s all here.
A real-life psychological thriller guaranteed to blow some hair back.
All I have to do is dig and interpret.
While I’m still trying to decide if I hate myself, I open a fresh page and begin typing furiously, bullet-pointing ideas and outlining frantically.
I chew my lip, still tasting the whisper of his kiss on my skin.
If I’m going to do this, I need to get closer.
I have to feel the weight the hell he’s been through left on his shoulders.
What if I just pretend to like him? Would that be so awful?
But what if he takes advantage of that?
Yeah, this feels crazy on the surface. But it could be exactly what I need to finish my degree with flying honors and every door of opportunity kicked open.
A few minutes later, a paper I never thought I’d write is almost born.
There’s only one thing left to do.
Tomorrow, I’ll apologize to Chris and beg him to stick around.
If I can get him to agree, I know I’ll find a way to pull more out of him.
A high-stakes game of truth or dare.
I’m sure I have nothing on his hard military discipline, but I’m sure I can control myself.
Just smile oh-so-sweetly.
Bite my tongue every time he calls me princess.
Attempt to have a human conversation.
I could even try to be his friend—and not because I’m selfish—but because he seems like he could use a sympathetic ear...
...couldn’t he?
I don’t care how hot he is, or how wet his filthy mouth makes me.
Pushing him away tonight tells me I can handle him at his worst.
So, I’ll just lead him into the friend zone and put up barbed wire around both of us.
Before anything goes too far.
A strange new confidence hums through my veins.
If all goes well, I’m going to unravel Chris and turn his story into something beautiful to share with the world. Even if I have to do it without ever mentioning his name.
Mystery McHottie is mine.
It’s only a few hot summer weeks.
It’s only a pet project.
Only hours of my life with a complicated, sexy young man who I’m starting to think was put here to test my own sanity.
Let him push and tease all he wants. I’ll never break.
I’ll just show my god of green-eyed lightning that he’s not the only one who knows how to weather a storm.
6
Grey Waters (Chris)
Every time I turn around, there’s another fucking landmine.
I head for the office at the crack of dawn, shrugging off the hangover as I grab my crap and hoist it into my truck. I fight the urge to flip off Jeeves in the guard shack when he opens the gate, giving me another one of those looks that says, good riddance.
Yeah, shithead, same to you.
The Enguard headquarters is my fortress.
It’s sleek and spartan, all neutral colors with high-tech meeting and work rooms lurking behind the walls. The place is easily fancier than anything I’ve lived with under the government for the last seven years.
And compared to all the bullshit drama at home?
Working around the clock here sounds like a dream come true.
Ma showed her true colors for about the thousandth time.
Marriage to her latest toy hasn’t changed a single shade. And I’ll be damned if I’m crashing in that godforsaken house while she beats me up over my career with her marshmallow of a sugar daddy joining the fun.
Delia made her feelings crystal clear, too.
Honestly, I’m glad.
I know I was buzzed and I came at her too hard—I can admit when I’ve fucked up—but she sent her message loud and clear.
The way she tore herself away from me last night like I was a plague rat after I shoved my lips on hers makes a gunshot to the face feel subtle.
Today, without the whiskey in my veins and more common sense, I can’t blame her for running me out of her room.
I almost fucked up royally.
Like it or not, she’s my stepsister, courtesy of this fuckery, and she’s got a point.
Getting freaky comes with radioactive consequences.
I’m allergic to drama—especially with women.
It’s been my policy ever since my balls dropped and I learned to love a bedroom moan.
Love? Romance? Feelings?
Give me a damn break.
Casual, worry-free fucking has served me well. There are also a million chicks in this city who’ll be happy to suck my dick without any risk of stepping in a family bear trap.
I’m planning to hit the bar tonight after I work out, read the latest reports, and get home.
When I get to the fitness wing of this massive building, I’m ready to blow off some steam.
I work through my usual routine—going extra hard on the rowing machine because why the hell not—and hating that none of it helps.