Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Dev arches a brow. I gulp, and I mean to look away, except…I can’t. The man is shirtless again, his hair wet, a lone droplet of water traveling down his massive chest, roaming along his abs.
I take a longer look than I did in the diner parking lot. He doesn’t have any ink. That’s a surprise. He seems like the kind of guy who’d ink dogs, or cats, or a line from his favorite book on that muscular canvas. Instead, his chest sports a fine covering of light brown hair, the kind I could run my nails through. The kind I want to run them through—there’s just something about polished pink nails trailing through golden brown, wiry chest hair that gets me going. Like Dev gets me going. He’s wearing only a loose pair of gym shorts, and it would be a gold medal feat if I could take my eyes off the freshly showered athlete as he walks to the bed.
He gives the sleeping arrangements on his side of the bed a final once-over, then glances at Ledger’s side. “Bet he thinks he stole my spot.”
“Well, he did,” I point out.
“Can I tell you a secret?”
Does it involve you wanting to pound me into the mattress after your friend and I just kissed?
I swipe that thought away, smiling innocently as I say, “Sure. I love secrets.”
Dev leans closer, and I catch a whiff of his scent. It goes to my head, with his cedar and suede notes. “I had a hunch he’d do that. But this is the side I really wanted.”
“Strategic.”
“Every good athlete is,” he says, then lifts up the duvet and slides under.
Right next to me.
I hold my breath for a few seconds. Here I am. On my double honeymoon with my brother’s two best friends. It’s just the goalie, the forward, and me in this big bed. This isn’t awkward at all.
Dev dims the light, then cracks open his Kindle too.
I try not to glance at him as I flip through pages about the billionaire who operates a security firm and hires out bodyguards, which makes so much more sense now. But as I read about his new leggy client, who just showed up in his sleek corner office, I’m hyperaware of the inches between Dev and me. Of his finger sliding across the screen every fifteen seconds or so. Of his strong legs under the covers, shifting a little restlessly. Of the rise and fall of his naked chest.
Am I too close to him? Does he need more space?
“Do you need more room?” I whisper.
He looks my way. “Nope. I’m all good.” He tips his chin toward my e-reader. “Whatcha reading?”
The dreaded question. I’m not ashamed of my tastes, but I also don’t want to explain myself to someone who doesn’t get it. “It’s a book about a billionaire,” I say tactfully.
He arches a playful brow. “Same!”
I jerk my gaze to him, doubtful. “What?”
“Well, it’s not a book. It’s a long piece from a tech site about how a bunch of billionaires hired an economist to help them prep for a future with scarce resources. He had to train them to realize they can’t just buy everyone off. He taught them that money doesn’t solve everything, and they might need to trade resources and skills and, you know, treat people with kindness and stuff.”
That’s not exactly what I’m reading. “Sounds interesting,” I say, evasively.
“Is yours good too?”
“Yes.” I hope he doesn’t ask more questions. Before I reconnected with Aiden, I was on the dating apps, where I encountered more than a few judgy men who felt entitled to comment on my choice of books. Why would you read that stuff? Fuck them, but I don’t want to burst the bubble of good feelings I share with these two guys. If Dev’s book judgy, I’d rather not know.
“Read some to me,” he suggests.
I freeze.
“C’mon, Aubs.”
“It’s a romance novel. For book club,” I say.
That would deter most men, but not Dev. “Cool. Read me a bedtime story,” he demands, setting down his own Kindle and parking his hands behind his head. The move sends the covers snaking farther down his body, revealing more of the toned, trim abs that make my fingertips tingle to explore every dip and groove.
“I don’t want to wake up Ledger,” I say, even though I’m feeling a little fizzy at Dev’s request.
He throws back the covers and swings his legs out of bed, nodding to the adjacent living room. “Let’s read out there.”
Is he for real? “You really want me to read to you?”
“News flash: I like books.”
“And you heard me that it’s romantic and stuff?” Also, it’s kinda naughty, but I don’t add that little nugget.
“Did you hear the part earlier where I watch Christmas movies? I like this stuff…well, in entertainment form. Important distinction.”