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)
My eyes sweep him up and down, scanning his large body. Gorgeous. Unyielding. His entire existence is a walking thirst trap, and I’m standing here pretending to be unimpressed while my internal monologue is drafting our wedding vows.
“I know, I know!” I deflect. “You’re built like a linebacker. We get it.”
He smirks. “I’m a beast.”
“I don’t know what that means.” I stare down into my empty glass and frown. Pluck the flower out and set it on my tongue, chewing.
“It means I have endurance.” His brow lifts. “Lots of it.”
I blink. Twice.
Did he just…? Was that an innuendo…?
“You can’t go saying things like that,” I murmur, trying to sound annoyed—and failing.
“I can’t?” He tilts his head to the side. “Why not?”
“Because you’re my roommate.”
“There’s a handbook now on what we can and cannot say?” He grins, white teeth sparkling at me in the most attractive way. I imagine those teeth nipping at my skin…
“Are you implying that…” I say slowly, letting the words drip from my lips like syrup. “You don’t think roommates should respect boundaries?”
His smirk wavers.
He regrets making the joke—I can see it in his eyes.
I lean in, keeping my tone light as I go on. “No seeing each other half-naked by accident or on purpose. Definitely no flirting at rooftop bars.”
Turner clears his throat. “Are those the official rules?”
“They are now.” I tilt my head. “Unless you want to renegotiate?”
His nostrils flare.
Eyes drop to my lips.
Oh yeah. He wants to renegotiate.
I suck on the rim of my empty glass. “You said endurance, right?”
His brow lifts cautiously. “Lots of it.”
“Hm.” I tap a finger against my chin. “That’s an arrogant statement to brag about. You know that, right?”
“You’re a little brat.” He huffs a laugh, shifting closer like he can’t help it. His voice dips lower, rich and rough. “Stop messing with me.”
If only he knew…
turner
. . .
The ride home was as unbearable as the ride to the bar.
Too many drinks and way too much flirting.
Not that I regret it.
Not even a little.
But now my jeans are too tight, my brain is mush, and every time I close my eyes, I see Poppy’s lips on her cocktail glass, licking sugar off the rim like she wasn’t slowly dismantling my entire nervous system.
Jesus.
I scrub a hand over my jaw as the car turns down our street, the tension in my shoulders tight enough to snap. She’s quiet beside me—leg pressed against mine, thigh warm and soft—and I swear to god, if this car hits one more pothole and bounces us an inch closer, my dick will get hard.
I’m not drunk.
Tipsy, maybe. Loosened.
Every part of me is dialed in to the fact that she smells like vanilla and sweet liquor, and I’m one polite conversation away from saying something I’ll regret in the morning.
Such as: Can I lick your pussy?
Poppy laughs under her breath at something the driver says, and I feel it in my balls. It’s a full-body awareness and my soul is leaning in for a better look.
I chance a glance sideways.
Her head’s turned toward the window, but I can see the soft line of her jaw, the soft curve of her silky hair. I remember the way she touched me at the bar, accidental sure, but my body reacted as if shocked by a taser.
By the time we pull into our driveway, I’ve already given myself seven stern lectures and mentally signed a vow of celibacy. Doesn’t matter that she’s gorgeous. Doesn’t matter that her flirting has turned me inside out.
She’s my roommate.
Off-limits.
And she wants boundaries.
Great.
Perfect.
Easy!
Except, nothing about her is easy.
She climbs out of the Uber first, heels clicking against the concrete as she walks toward the house, slow and unhurried and a bit crooked.
I follow behind her like a shadow, watching the way her hips sway under her tight denim, ready to catch her if she stumbles.
She pauses on the porch while I punch in the door code, the warm night air charging the energy between us. Unless I’m a fucking idiot and completely reading the situation wrong.
“This was fun,” she says quietly, voice softer now, like she’s afraid to break the moment. She waits for me to push open the door to the laundry room, but I don’t move.
Instead, I turn to her.
The light bathes her in a halo of gold, catching on the curve of her cheekbones, the edge of her smile, the sweep of those lashes I’m suddenly obsessed with. She looks up at me, eyes wide, waiting.
God she’s pretty.
“You heading to bed?” I ask, because I need this moment to end before I do something stupid. Like ask her to stay up and have a glass of wine on the patio. Or worse—kiss her.
She nods, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. Big day tomorrow—more unpacking.”
“Right.”
Another beat passes. Too long.
“Goodnight, Turner.”