Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 92646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Direct hit.
He starts walking back, and Nova materializes, murmuring over my shoulder like she’s narrating a National Geographic special. “Here he comes. The apex predator in his natural habitat.”
“Nova.”
“He comes bearing gifts.” She’s using an Australian accent.
I laugh. “Knock it off.”
But it’s too late—he’s already back.
I take the drink, careful not to brush his fingers this time. Once was enough. My body still hasn’t recovered from that minor contact.
Nova has vanished—like the party goblin she is—and I am suddenly very aware that Turner and I are alone-ish. Close. Closer than we probably should be.
He’s standing so close.
Yes, it’s so he doesn’t have to shout to be heard—but close just the same. I can smell him again. His cologne. His shower gel. Shampoo.
I take a sip, trying not to stare at his chest.
Whoa! Damn this drink is strong.
“I owe you one,” I say, gesturing to the glass. It’s shaped like a bell and filled with pink liquid, a purple flower floating on its surface. “Mmm.”
“I’ll add it to your tab.”
“I have a tab?”
“You do now,” he says, lips twitching as he sips whatever cocktail is in his glass, the large, square ice cube jingling against the crystal. “Running tally.”
I raise a brow. “What’s the damage so far?”
He considers, leaning a fraction closer. “One drink. Two heart attacks. And a near-death experience in the back of that Uber.”
I giggle and roll my eyes. “You were fine.”
“My life flashed before my eyes. Who was going to save me?”
“Oh please.” I gesture with my drink. “You are a wall of muscle. I practically bounced off you when he took that sharp turn.”
“Wall of muscle?” He perks up. “Are you admitting I’m built for impact?”
“I’m saying it’s commendable you didn’t flinch when I accidentally touched your thigh.”
Accidentally.
My roommate’s eyes gleam. “You call that a touch?”
I blink. “I beg your pardon?”
“If that’s your definition of touching, I’ve got concerns about your definition of groping.”
We lock eyes. Neither of us laughs. The silence stretches—charged. Heavy with the memory of thigh brushes and shared breath in the back seat. The wind picks up like it’s eavesdropping, waiting for someone to strike a match and set this rooftop on fire.
Turner nods toward my drink. “How’s that working out for you?”
I glance down at the glass. Pink. Melty.
Half gone.
“Still recovering from the first,” I admit, swirling the liquid. “At this rate, I’m one sip away from proposing to someone.”
He moves closer, dipping his head so he can get close. “I’d say yes.”
I laugh—nervous, breathless. “You’re joking.”
“Am I?”
“You don’t even know me. I could be a monster.”
“True.” His laugh is low and causes me to shiver. “So. How long have you known Nova?”
Aww. A topic I can bite in to. “Since college. She was my roommate sophomore year, and the rest is history.” Honestly, she only made it through two years at University, but we kept in touch after she dropped-out to take design classes at a Tech school.
I sip my drink again, grateful for something to do with my mouth.
He leans a little closer, his smile easy now. “What about you? What do you do when you’re not introducing yourself to your new roommates by cooking naked in the kitchen?”
My cheeks go nuclear. “Die of embarrassment, mostly—and I wasn’t naked.”
He laughs again, soft and low, and it vibrates under my skin.
Whew! Is it hot out here?!
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up. I’m still sleep-deprived,” he deadpans. “And being out after 10 p.m. is legally inadmissible.”
I shift, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “You really weren’t expecting me that morning, huh?”
His smile turns sheepish. “Not even a little. I thought the house was empty. I was ready to faceplant straight into bed and then—bam—hot girl in her underwear, making eggs and threatening me with a spatula.”
Hot girl…
“I’m extremely good at making things weird.” I exhale.
He lifts his glass. “To weird.”
I clink mine against his. “To weird.”
A beat passes, charged and warm. The kind that makes your skin feel too tight and your lungs work too hard.
His voice drops, all teasing gone. “You’re kind of impossible not to look at, you know that?”
My entire body heats at the compliment. Not the kind of heat that makes you blush and giggle like a schoolgirl—no, it’s the kind of heat that makes your knees give out and your brain scream LICK HIM.
Not a single soul has ever told me I’m impossible to look at. Not even people on the internet, where compliments come cheap and filters do most of the work.
My smile falters—the teeniest bit—and I hope he doesn’t notice the way my breath stutters or how tightly I’m gripping the stem of my glass.
“Are you drunk?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “Of course not. Look at me—do you have any idea how much alcohol I’d have to drink to get drunk?”