Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
She’s bouncing on her back legs now, tongue lolling, saying a hearty hello with no more questions. “I guess she’s not annoyed I used her as a shield.”
“Well, she is a wiener dog.”
I snort-laugh.
Briar smiles, then takes a deep breath of the cooling night air. Her smile vanishes as she says, “Want to tell me why you’re standing naked at my hot tub of contemplation?”
I glance down at the glass of wine in her hand. “Does that mean you were drinking a cup of regret?”
“You could say that.”
That’s no good. “Regret is best not drunk alone.”
“True, but…”
She’s waiting for a real answer. She deserves one. But I have no idea why she’s here either.
I point to the tempting tub that I really want to be in right now. But I feel a little like a schmuck when I take a good look around at the open bottle of wine, the phone on the table, the towels on chairs, the wet purple bikini on her. Seems she’s been staying here, and I do not want to be the kind of guy that just horns in on a woman’s place. “Because I’m pretty sure your hot tub of contemplation is…is my hot tub of relaxation.” With an apologetic sigh, I add, “The festival organizer sent me the info for this rental. They’re the ones who booked it.”
Her expression looks pained at first, then she shutters that down, like she’s putting on armor. “No, this is the rental I booked,” she says, tough, like she needs to protect herself.
From shitty men, probably. I do not want to be one of them.
“I could have the info wrong,” I say and then pad to the pile of pants I shed minutes ago, fish out my phone from the pocket, and click over to my email, showing her one from Kailani that has the address. It matches this home. “Pretty sure this is 303 Dogwood Lane.”
Briar’s jaw tightens and ticks as she reads. A hard, frustrated breath comes next, then she spins around, grabs her phone and swipes across the screen.
I try not to stare at the trim, toned muscles in her legs and arms. But she’s strong and athletic, a woman who uses her body for work, and that’s hard to look away from. She reads out loud from her screen. “I can get you into another rental a week early. 303 Dogwood Lane.” Briar drops her head, groans, and lets out a terrible sigh. She looks up and meets my face. “She must have accidentally booked me into your rental a week early, not realizing it was booked for this week too. I’ll just check with her tomorrow and see if she has another one for the week.” Stoic, chin raised, she adds, “I’ll grab my things.”
Hold on. “It’s past eleven. Where would you even go?” I ask, a little shocked.
There’s a crease in her brow and sadness in her shoulders. But she seems to shake it all off. This is a woman who doesn’t let shit get her down. “My dad’s not far away. He’s about a half hour from here. I’ll just go there. It’s not a big deal.”
That is not okay. “No.”
“What?”
“Just no,” I say decisively, my tone brooking no argument.
“What do you mean just no?”
“You don’t need to leave. It was a mistake. That doesn’t make it more mine than yours. I can get a hotel.”
She scoffs. “There aren’t going to be any available, Hollis. Everything is booked.”
She has a good point there.
Scratching my head, I stare at the hot tub for a few beats. Tendrils of steam wrap around me. That bottle of wine looks good too. It’s late, and we’re both adults. “Let’s sort it out tomorrow. For tonight, wanna share?”
12
MAY I?
Briar
Tonight I’ve only had one glass, so I can’t blame the wine for the way I feel right now.
Flirty. Curious. Hungry.
I can’t blame my MO either, since flirty isn’t my usual speed. When I go out with friends, I’m usually the designated driver. The mom of the group. My dad’s constant warnings about being reliable and dependable above all stuck with me.
But I’m just so ready to say screw it for the rest of the night.
As Hollis’s question lingers in the hazy night—wanna share—I shrug and let my fuck it playlist be my guide. “Well, I do owe you one,” I say as the song grows louder.
His lips curve up in a thoroughly kissable grin as he recalls the favor I promised him the night he saved my cat with his friends. His eyes stray to the bubbling jacuzzi in front of us, steam wafting up in invitation. “Then I’ll cash in that favor for a hot tub.”
Company in the form of a kind and very easy-on-the-eyes man works for me. I’ve been so tightly wound since the breakup, trying to keep it together as I tried to balance searching for an apartment, launching the app, and prepping for the festival. But reading that awful article tonight tipped my stress right over. I want to forget how it felt to read Steven’s cutting words.