Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“You say yes. And then you tell me about it.”
“Want me to send you a selfie to make you feel better? That always seems to help irritated females.”
“Sure. I’ll use it as a dartboard.”
“That’s mean.”
She only laughs.
I dig around the bags from the boutique Astrid sent the clothes from and find my belt.
Her mention of the charity game reminds me that I need to call Gannon and get him to cut a check from Brewer Group as a donation. Since he’s so worried about my image and all—he can put his money where his mouth is.
“Okay,” she says. “I’ll let you get back to your night. Any plans?”
“Oh, that wasn’t begging, Ren. I can be a lot more persuasive than that.”
That line has gone through my head a hundred times already.
If Blakely were anyone else, I’d have her bent over the bed by now. Then again, if she were anyone else, I wouldn’t be this messed up about it.
I weighed the risk versus reward for about five seconds earlier. Is there any way I could get away with fucking Blakely and not have Brock rip my throat out? The answer was a resounding no. But even when I pretended there was a chance, something was wrong with that picture.
The thought of having Blakely in my bed makes me lose my mind. Naked. Spread open. Moaning my name as she comes on my cock. But the idea of seeing what I’ve seen in other women’s eyes when they have to leave makes me ill.
Blakely’s not like that. She’s a treasure, and for the first time in my life, I don’t know if I could actually fuck a woman and not give a shit afterward.
What the hell is wrong with me? When did I grow a conscience?
“Renn? Plans?” Astrid asks again.
“Nope,” I say, trying not to imagine Blakely’s ass going up the stairs. “Just having dinner with Brock and his sister for her birthday. Keeping it low-key.”
“Sounds good. It’s just so sad that they lost their mom so young. She was only in her early forties, right?”
I tighten the belt. “Yeah. Something like that.”
“Okay. Well, have fun tonight but, for the love of God, behave, Renn.”
“You’re starting to sound like Dad.”
“The last time you were in Vegas, you wound up in the emergency room with head trauma, a prostitute refusing to vacate your hotel room, and a public relations nightmare that nearly gave your father a heart attack.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m so misunderstood.”
“Right.”
“That was three years ago. The head trauma was because I got hit over the back of the head in a brawl that had nothing to do with me, in a room that wasn’t mine—I was only paying for it—over a prostitute that had nothing to do with me at all.” I blow out a breath. “I have a suite here, you know. I’m not as exposed to the elements.”
“A suite and a pretty brunette. Am I right?”
I grin.
“That’s what I thought,” she says, sighing. “If you do something stupid, I quit. I’ll give all my energy to Bianca.”
I snort. “You wouldn’t do that.”
“Try me.”
I pull open my door. Brock stands beside the table, taking in the view. He glances over his shoulder, sees I’m on the phone, and turns away.
“Is that all you need?” I ask. “I gotta get going.”
“Yes. That’s it. I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Hey! Call that poor salesgirl back and double her tip.”
She groans.
“Thank you. Bye, Astrid,” I say, taunting her.
“Goodbye.”
She ends the call with a click.
Brock slips a hand in his pocket and looks at me. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah. All good. Astrid just updating me on some shit. I forgot to tell her about Henderson’s charity game. So she was super peachy.”
“Shit. I forgot about that too.”
“You probably have a packet of info waiting on you.”
Brock plants his hands on the table and rolls his neck around his shoulders. “Thank you for coming with me, by the way. I don’t know if I’ve said that. You’re a good friend.”
Guilt riddles me. No, I’m not. I’ve imagined turning your sister inside out on my cock for the last three hours. I’m not a good friend.
“Thanks,” I say instead—mostly because I like my face. “I’m going to grab my wallet, and I’ll be ready. Have you seen the girls?”
“They should be about done. I’ll go check on Ella and hurry her ass along.”
Shall I go check on your sister’s ass? “Great.”
He gives me a sideways look as he leaves.
“I gotta get it together,” I mutter, entering my room and closing the door.
I lean against the wall and blow out a long, harried breath.
My heart feels like I’m gearing up for a game. Every cell in my body is on high alert, waiting on … nothing. Nothing is going to happen.
I should’ve jacked off in the shower. It would’ve at least taken the edge off things.