Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
But that’s not all it is with us. It hasn’t been for a while, at least not for me. That’d be an even more dangerous thing to tell Shep, though. He’d be pissed if I was fucking his sister. He’d be lethal if he found out I’m falling in love with her.
Chapter 19
Joy
Rushing in after my eleven o’clock report, I drop my purse on the tile next to the door, fling my coat in the general direction of my coatrack, and kick off my furry boots that are a behind-the-scenes secret of news reporters. Unless we’re in the field, we only have to appear professionally dressed from the waist up. Underneath the in-studio desk, more often than not, Jonathon has on golf shorts or athletic pants with his suit and tie to do the top stories, Carlise has on yoga pants with her blouse to do local reporting, and we all have on warm shoes because the studio is kept a balmy sixty-five degrees to counteract the hot lights on the set. The only person who has to dress head-to-toe in film-worthy attire is Veronica, the weather reporter who walks back and forth in front of a green screen.
In my mismatched outfit of a sweater and collared shirt paired with stretch jeans, I barge into my bedroom. “Ten minutes, Joy. Get a move on,” I coach myself. If only I’d been faster leaving the station, I wouldn’t be rushing this much, but my producer and boss, Greg, wanted to talk about the NHL report, so I gave him some stats for my major league counterpart, Matt, to use despite it not being my job to do so.
Yanking everything off and dropping it to the floor in the general direction of my laundry hamper, I dig in my pajama drawer for something cute. “Red? Too aggressive. Pink? Too soft. Green? Too teamy. Ooh, yellow, perfect bit of sunshine for the gray December day.”
I pull the thin cotton cami over my head, adjusting my breasts so that my pearled nipples are both at the same level of attention, and then pull the matching shorts on. Well, shorts might be a generous descriptor. They’re more like fluttery-leg hot pants that leave a good inch of my ass cheek hanging out the hem. I spin to look in the mirror and grin evilly. “Irresistible.”
Not that Dalton is trying to resist me.
Except he’s in town tonight for tomorrow’s home game, and when I’d asked if we were meeting at his place or mine, he surprised me by suggesting a video chat. I’m not sure what that’s about, but I’ll be sure to find out tonight even if it takes a little teasing, taunting, and edging to get at the truth.
So yeah, maybe irresistible is exactly what I need.
My phone rings and I answer, though I keep the screen pointed at the ceiling. “Hey, I’m almost ready. Hang on.” I toss the phone to the bed and sprint for the bathroom. But I can hear Dalton yelling at me from the phone.
“What are you doing, woman? Take me with you at least. Your ceiling’s boring as hell and I wanna see you. Pick up the damn phone.”
I grin at my reflection in the mirror, enjoying this a little too much. I fluff my hair, run a makeup remover wipe over my face to take off the pancake makeup, and do a quick rinse of mouthwash even though Dalton can’t smell my breath through the phone.
“Joyyyy! Heyyy! Joyyy!” he’s shouting as I plop back on the bed.
“Be patient. I was almost ready, but I just walked in the door,” I explain.
His lips press into a flat line, one brow arched. “You coulda taken me with you. A bit of ‘glad to see you’ urgency would be fucking appreciated, ya know?”
He’s pouting and it’s absolutely adorable.
“I was . . . I mean, I am glad to see you. But there’s a certain degree of difficulty in dealing with me. One of which is my charming lack of time management when it comes to discussing hockey stats. Some might call it obsessive. I call it passionate.” I grin at him, letting my eyes drink him in the way his are virtually licking over the screen as he sees me for the first time tonight.
He’s already shirtless and lying back in his bed, ready for tonight’s voyeuristic activities judging by the heat in his gaze and the tightness of his abs. I can’t see below his belly button, but I’d bet he’s already thick and hard. Maybe even leaking if he pregamed a bit.
“One, you look gorgeous,” he says with a lick of his lips. “Two, were you talking about my stats? And three, a certain degree of difficulty?” That last bit is echoed with a significant dose of are you fucking for real right now? “You’re like an F5 tornado blowing through my life, except you bring orgasms, smiles, and good luck with your destructive force. Certain degree of difficulty, my ass,” he scoffs, smirking that sexy grin that I love to put on his face almost as much as I love wiping it off.