Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Bad example.
Point is, boob is boob, and when tiny dick brain sees boob, they immediately want to touch, and then a light wind picks up through the house, and bam.
Boner city.
Ha! Yeah, that’s it.
That’s what happened.
There was a distant breeze brought on by the front door being open, it slithered under the bathroom door and announced itself to his dick and his dick’s only obvious answer was to say hi.
Because that’s what… dicks. Do.
I hear a rustling around the room and open up one eye.
“Agh!” Killian stumbles back. “Were you even sleeping?”
“Yes,” I lie. “What are you doing? Why are you naked?”
“I have pants on, and I almost fell.” His eyes narrow at me like he thinks I’m seriously unhinged, then he turns around and bends over to grab something out of his suitcase.
He’s wearing a pair of ripped black jeans that hug his ass like he just got back from leg day and got too swollen. I gulp when he pulls a white V-neck cotton shirt over his ripped, tatted up body and follows it up with a leather jacket.
Of course he does.
And of course it’s electric blue and somehow still looks devastating on him. His hair isn’t even done, and I almost want to ask him to just keep that messy wet look, but that would mean speaking and I’m finding it hard to breathe at the moment.
Again, he wasn’t thinking of me.
He was probably thinking of some supermodel or something.
He walks over to one of the tables and switches out one of his earrings in his right ear for a small dangly cross, then grabs a few rings from a box that must have magically appeared when we were showering. He follows that up with a matching cross necklace and grabs a pair of expensive looking sunglasses, I think they’re Celine, but I can’t tell and don’t want to look creepy.
“So.” He finally turns around. “You have around forty-five minutes to get ready. I’ll go grab the coffee from Dustin, and you can get ready. Let me know if you need help picking out the dress that’s supposed to murder the bride.”
“Very funny.” I crawl out of bed, forgetting I have the towel wrapped around me but not tied.
It falls past my knees. “Shit!”
“WHY!” he shouts and turns around in a circle. “Stop showing me your tits!”
“It’s not on purpose!” I yell.
He looks back at me, his expression blank, and then a frown forms across his face. “What happened to your cheek?”
I touch the now swelling piece of flesh. “I uh, fell.”
“You fell,” he deadpans. “From what great distance did you fall while I was showering?”
“Bed,” I gulp. “I mean I had a dream you killed Chuck Norris—”
“The man or the turtle?”
“The man, and then I tried to punch the air and fell out of bed and hit my face on the side table.”
“Wow, all within the span of like fifteen minutes and you were still able to get back to sleep? Impressive.”
I laugh uncomfortably. “That’s me, impressive. Besides it doesn’t look that bad, does it?”
I keep my towel tightly bound around myself and walk over to the mirror in the corner. “Oh shit.”
He comes up behind me. “You could always say you got in a fight trying to save a little girl from getting trafficked.”
I glare at him through the mirror. “A little dark for a wedding. Hey, aren’t you supposed to be working on the special song for tonight?”
“I’m going to improvise.” He crosses his arms. “You know, make shit up. Besides, we both know the only reason I’m here is to piss you off.”
“The only reason you exist is to piss me off.” I smile sweetly at him.
He leans down and rests his chin on my shoulder. I hate that I like the movement. What kind of cologne is he wearing? Or is that just hot rockstar musk with a side of tattoo? Asking for a friend.
Killian’s chin is slightly rough against my skin; his five o’clock shadow should be illegal, he’s clearly weaponizing it and knows it. “Why do I piss you off? Really, I want to know.”
“Because.” I lick my lips. “You’re arrogant.”
“You met me for a few hours and that’s what you come up with? I’m arrogant?”
I’m annoyed with my own attitude. “It’s not just—it’s not just that. It’s just… You know what? Never mind. I know we don’t get along, and I annoy you, and that you’re used to people just collapsing at your feet. Let’s just get through the weekend and everything will be great!”
“Yeah, let’s just hope my manager doesn’t catch wind that I’m suddenly engaged to the girl that I was told in no uncertain terms to drop before my career tanks even further.”
I freeze. “What?”
He shrugs. “You got the NDA, right?”
“Yes, the next day. Thanks for that. Basically, you’ll sue the shit out of me if I talk about you or share pictures of our moments together, super romantic. I literally got served papers, by a complete stranger, you know how humiliating it is to sign something that says no contact?”