Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
“We’re going out back,” she says, leading me through the living room and country-style kitchen toward a set of glass sliding doors.
Out back is a massive deck that overlooks the ocean, with a winding, wooden staircase that goes down to the sand. The view alone is worth a million dollars, and my eyebrows soar as we step onto the deck.
“Whoa,” I remark. “That view is sick. I’m surprised developers haven’t tried to snatch this place up. Build a little condo community or something.”
“Oh, they’ve tried, but we’re never selling,” Cooper Hartley says, appearing behind us. He steps out of the kitchen, shirtless, barefoot, and clad in red swim trunks. He’s sporting two full sleeves of tattoos and rock-hard abs, and I get a little starry-eyed just looking at him.
Then I blink and a second Cooper appears to my left from the rickety stairs. Also shirtless, except this Cooper is wet, as if he’d just come from the ocean. His tall, muscular body drips seawater all over the deck floor as he strides up.
“Oh wow.” I glance at Cooper, then his twin. “You guys really are identical.”
“Nah,” the twin says. “I’m way better looking.”
“Bullshit,” Cooper argues.
Rolling her eyes, Mackenzie introduces me to Evan, Cooper’s twin, who flashes a sexy grin before disappearing into the house.
“Come on,” she says, touching my arm. “Everyone’s already on the beach.”
We head down to the sand, where several loungers and Adirondack chairs are arranged in a haphazard circle around the fire pit. The fire’s not yet lit since the sun hasn’t set, and it’s still so hot out that a bonfire feels almost redundant.
On one of the loungers, a platinum blonde sits in the lap of a guy who, even sitting down, looks massive. Six-five at least, with huge muscular arms that could probably bench-press everyone here. A gorgeous brunette in a black string bikini is sprawled on the neighboring lounger, scrolling on her phone, while another girl with a high ponytail and dusky complexion stands at a plastic table laden with drinks, pouring liquor into a tall plastic cup.
Mackenzie quickly runs through some more introductions. Table girl is Steph. The couple on the chair are Heidi and her boyfriend, Jay. The brunette is Jay’s sister, Genevieve, who also happens to be Evan Hartley’s fiancée.
That startles me. “You guys are engaged?”
“Sure are,” Genevieve answers. She narrows her eyes at me in a challenge. “And don’t give me that you’re too young BS. I hear it from my brothers on a daily basis.”
“You’re too young,” her brother grumbles as if on cue.
“I wasn’t going to say that,” I assure her. “It’s just so rare to find people who want to get married in their early twenties.”
“Well, I mean, we gotta tie that knot ASAP if we’re going to start pumping out kids. We’ve decided we want at least six. Isn’t that right, Hartley?” she calls up at the deck.
Evan appears at the railing above us. “Seven,” he calls back. “That’s my lucky number.”
“Do you want a drink?” Mackenzie heads over to the table, where I greet Steph with a tentative smile.
“Here, let me make you what I’m having,” Steph says, reaching for another plastic cup. “I’m experimenting with a new recipe. I picked up some of that vanilla-flavored vodka and I’m mixing it with raspberry lemonade. It’s either going to be vomit-inducingly sweet or the most delicious thing you’ve ever tasted.”
“Can’t wait to find out,” I say with a snicker.
As I wait for her to mix the drink, I glance toward the deck, where the twins are laughing about something at the railing. I guess Tate isn’t here. Neither is the redhead from the party last week, I note. Alana. For some reason that triggers a tiny prickle of jealousy. What if they’re both gone because they’re hooking up again?
I ignore the tight knot in my belly and accept the drink Steph hands me. I’m thirsty, so I take a big gulp and it isn’t until after I’ve swallowed that I realize what I’m in for. The liquid burns a fiery path to my stomach and induces a bout of coughing.
“Too sweet?” she frets.
I gape at her. My eyes water as I let out a final cough. “I can barely taste the lemonade,” I squawk. “This is, like, ninety percent vodka.”
Steph grins. “So?”
“So I wasn’t expecting that. Jeez. Warn a girl next time.”
We rejoin the others around the unlit fire pit. Steph settles in one of the chairs, while Mackenzie and I share a lounger. I take a teeny sip of my potent cocktail. This time I anticipate the vodka burn and make a conscious decision to pace myself. One cup of this stuff is liable to get me sloppy drunk.
Mackenzie and her friends aren’t much older than me, yet for some reason I feel like a kid next to them. Maybe it’s because they’re all so gorgeous. Genevieve is basically a supermodel—long legs, toned body slick with tanning oil, sunglasses resting on her pert nose. Beside me, Mackenzie looks like she stepped off a yacht, a striped T-shirt hanging off one tanned shoulder and dark hair loose and cascading down her back.