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)
Men begin to descend from the ceiling, and others march onto the stage as firemen and construction crews. Blakely doesn’t notice.
“So,” I ask, smirking. “What’s your fantasy?”
I think she’s going to laugh or turn around to the show. Instead, she puts one hand on each of my armrests and leans forward.
The front of her dress hangs, giving me a full view of her chest. Her mouth is inches away from mine.
I hold my breath, keeping my hands glued to the chair. “Yeah.”
She grins. “Yeah, what?”
“I’m looking at my fantasy too.”
She giggles, swaying on her heels.
“If I touch you right now, we’ll both be in trouble,” I say.
“Yeah, but a little trouble never hurt anyone.”
I growl, making her smile.
“Since you won’t touch me …” She cups my cheeks in her hands and lowers her mouth to mine. “I guess I’ll have to touch you.”
I lean toward her, to cut the small distance between us. Holy fuck. But before our lips meet, a hand lightly touches my shoulder.
“Can I get you another drink?”
Blakely laughs, pulling away. “Oh my God.”
My teeth grind together as I try to breathe while not exploding on the server.
“We’re good,” Blakely says, resting her hand on my knee. “But thank you.”
“Not helping,” I mutter.
She laughs again, watching our intruder leave. “You know something?”
“I know a lot of damn things.”
“I was only kidding about coming here.”
“Now you tell me,” I say, shifting in my seat, desperate to find some sort of relief.
Everything on me, around me, and inside me is too much. Too loud. Too pressurized. Too sweet, too intense … too beautiful.
“Wanna go somewhere else?” she asks.
“Thought you’d never ask.”
She fixes the top of her dress. “I don’t want to go back to the suite yet. I’m having fun with you.”
This time, I think it’s my heart that does something funny.
“We’ve already been drinking,” she says. “We might as well finish off the night right. Go all-in.”
I get to my feet. “Who am I to turn down the birthday girl?”
She takes my hand and leads me to the exit.
CHAPTER 9
Blakely
“Stop,” I mumble into the pillow.
Instead of stopping, the phone begins ringing again. The sound pierces the air … and my skull.
My eyes are too heavy to open. A massive headache splits my head as I attempt to wake up—a headache so intense and painful that a shot of puke comes up my throat.
My mouth tastes awful. The air leaving my lungs is hot, and I smell … tequila?
The ringing starts all over again.
I pull the pillow over my ears, desperate for the sound to stop.
It takes more effort than I’ve ever used to open my eyes, but somehow I pry the lids apart. I peek into the dark, cool room. What a relief. It must still be night. I’ll just go back to sleep.
My weight shifts as I curl one leg toward me. A warm, sticky liquid pools around my ass. In the haze of the migraine, and tequila, apparently, I try to make sense of the situation.
The phone begins to chirp. And again. And again. And again. Then it starts to ring. Again.
But this time, the pillow helps.
I’ll deal with all of this in the morning. It’s probably just some fuckhead from work thinking it’s cute to tell me happy birthday before anyone else.
I drift off into a sweet, comfortable slumber. But I can’t be asleep for more than a minute when the door flies open and slams into the wall. I jump, my heart going too quickly from sleep mode to speed mode, and I gag.
I’m never drinking tequila again.
“Get up!” Brock’s voice booms through the room. “Now!”
Lights turn on. Despite my closed eyes, they’re still too bright. The curtains are yanked apart, and the button is pushed that opens the space to the atrium. Bright sunlight floods the bedroom.
“Stop yelling,” I mumble, rolling over. “Turn the lights off.”
“Um, Blakely? You probably need to get up right now, friend.” Ella’s voice is soft and at head level.
I squint open one eye and see her pretty face. “No. I’m good.” I close it again.
“Blake …” Ella takes my hand and pats it with hers. “Come on. You need to wake up.”
I whine, straightening my legs. The warm stickiness sloshes around me. Fuck. What is that?
The phone starts ringing again. This time, it’s followed by another one.
“Oh my gosh,” I say, wincing with pain. “Turn that thing off.”
“They’re going to keep ringing until you two wake the fuck up and deal with this,” Brock says, his voice ten decibels too loud.
I groan, reaching behind me and pushing Ella away. My hand touches her. Wait.
I still. The fog begins to roll away, and reality starts to float in.
Ella is right in front of me. I squint again. This time, I see the knowing concern on her face. And Ella doesn’t have a dick.