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)
“Does she pressure all of your siblings?” I ask.
His hand pauses in the air. “Now that I think about it, it’s mostly me.”
“She probably thinks it’ll get your name out of the tabloids.” I pull the suitcase onto its wheels. “Think about how good that would be for your image. You, winning a championship, with a blushing bride and bouncing baby boy at your side.” I laugh. “What would the baseball guys say then?”
He makes a face that has me laughing.
For someone with the nickname Renegade, Renn is surprisingly dutiful regarding his family. His respect for his father is evident. His love for his mother is written all over his face, and he’s always mentioning his siblings, making it obvious they’re close. So his apparent disdain for wanting a family is odd.
“You don’t want to get married someday?” I ask.
He licks his lips. “I’m too busy. I can be selfish. To be honest, I like my independence. I can spend my money on whatever I please. But probably the biggest thing is that I don’t have to wonder about hidden motivations.”
I nod. I can understand that. I’ve seen Brock deal with similar things.
“It makes it difficult to have a real relationship with someone when you’re wondering in the back of your mind if they see dollar signs, you know?” he asks, his voice softer. “I’ve seen way too much—with me and my family. I don’t think I could ever trust anyone that much.”
He forces a swallow.
“Makes sense.” It’s also one of the reasons Ella and Brock work. He trusts her. And he doesn’t trust easily.
He grins. “Your turn. What’s in Blakely Evans’s future?”
“That is a good question.”
“Do you want a marriage someday or no?”
“Oh, I do. Definitely. It’s just something I’ve never prioritized. But now that I’m thirty—or will be in a few hours—I need to stop dating men with no husband potential.” I brush a strand of hair out of my face. “If I don’t find a decent guy, I’m going to wind up with an anonymous sperm donor. You and Brock will have to be the cool uncles who spoil my baby with male attention.”
He chuckles.
“I’m not joking. I’ve seriously considered getting a sperm donor someday. Think about it—it has its upsides. No man to deal with and no pressure to settle with one just to start a family. No in-laws to loathe. I can do it on my own terms and timeline.”
“I have an idea,” he says, grinning.
“That scares me.”
He pulls Ella’s suitcase across the room. “Have a baby and tell my mom it’s mine. Think about it—you get a kid with a built-in babysitter and college fund, I get the media boost, and my mom is happy. We all win.”
“Oh, okay. That sounds like a great idea,” I say, looking at him like he’s lost his mind.
“What do you mean? It’s perfect.”
I laugh. “Renn Brewer, that might be the most selfish thing you’ve ever said.”
“Selfish? You mean selfless?”
“Nope. I meant selfish.”
He pulls the bright green suitcase to a stop by the door.
“Oh, wait. We forgot Ella’s carry-on.” I grab it off the chair and attempt to finagle it onto my arm. “I need more hands.”
“Here. I can get it.”
I cross the room and hand the satchel to Renn. My foot bumps my suitcase. It rolls behind me, effectively blocking Renn and me in the small corridor beside the door and bathroom.
The room around us shrinks, and the air thickens. Suddenly, I’m aware of the rise and fall of his chest beneath the thin layer of cotton stretched across his torso.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he looks down at me.
We’re almost too close. Almost touching. His exhales fill the small space between us with small blasts of wintergreen.
“Does this make you uncomfortable?” he asks, taunting me.
“Should it?” I smile coyly back at him.
He widens his stance, a playful smirk ghosting his lips. “Would it make you uncomfortable if I kissed you?”
My stomach pulls tight, and my lips part, begging for air … and a kiss. The movement catches his attention, and his gaze drops to my mouth. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip.
A shiver snakes down my spine, reminding me of all the things that tongue could probably do.
We’ve been here before—one wrong move away from starting something I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t, couldn’t, stop. Lucky for us, we both know better than to go too far.
That doesn’t mean we won’t go as close as we can. It’s a carefully choreographed dance that we’ve perfected over the years.
“Is that what you want to do?” I ask, lifting a brow. “You want to kiss me?”
He grins, his eyes hooding. “No. I want to fuck you.”
God.
My palm sweats around the suitcase handle. I try to look away from him—needing as much distance as possible to think straight. But as I attempt to pull my gaze from his, he refuses to let go.