Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Great. It’s one of those lines that’s supposed to be a compliment. Like, I’m not going to start with your eyes, but your brain, babe.
“Nope.”
“Well, let me buy you a drink, and we’ll figure it out.”
It’s best to be direct in these situations, so I turn, and no surprise, it’s douchey boss, and I meet his gaze head-on. “No, thanks.”
He makes no move to go though. He leers, his slick eyes roaming from my face to my chest, then back up. A smirk forms, victorious and irritating. In no time, I’m cycling through my self-defense moves, picturing the throw I’d use to take this creep down in a parking lot when he snaps his fingers, highlighting a tan line where a wedding ring once belonged. “Wait. Wait. I’ve seen you in a movie.”
Oh.
For a few seconds, I’m disarmed. This is a first for me. This never happens in Darling Springs since everyone there knows Haven and me. And while my identical twin sister isn’t a household name yet, she’s well on her way. She finished two successful seasons on the streaming ensemble hit The Dating Games, and she had a supporting part in a breakout Webflix movie, Top-Notch Boyfriend.
Still, I don’t want to be rude in case he tells people I am Haven, so I toss him a bone, managing a small smile as I start to say, “Actually, that’s—”
“The one where you, you flashed your…” His hands cup imaginary melons at pecs-level.
My sister has never done a nude scene, you jackass.
But I bite back that comeback since he’s just not worth it. I stare pointedly at the stool douchey boss is occupying. “Excuse me. I’m meeting someone,” I say, hoping he finally gets the message to go back to Creepville now.
“Someone who couldn’t be bothered to show up on time?” he asks as the sound of footsteps growing closer registers.
“How do you know he’s late?”
“He’s not here. I am. Don’t you want a man who shows up?”
He’s officially ruined my rosé. I open my purse so I can pay the tip and get the hell out when the footsteps stop. The origami man wedges himself between us, looming over the other guy but turning to me. “Hi, honey, sorry I’m late. But I got us a great table to make up for it. Did you want to join me, or do you still need to make that phone call to your aunt?”
In his dark-brown eyes, I see the offer. I’m here to whisk you away if you need me to.
I also see the out. I’ll cover for you while you walk away from this asshole.
I flash a see you later smile at the asshole, then a real one at my temporary hero as I push back in the stool, ready to leave. “Thanks, sweetie. A table sounds great.”
But douchey boss harrumphs faster, then pushes back in his stool, the grating sound of metal against metal screeching in my ears. With an aggravated sigh, he tosses a dollar on the bar. Nice tip. He heads off, his tail tucked between his legs.
The towering man tracks him the whole way, eyes like a hawk’s, till the man’s out of sight.
That’s just…hot.
When he turns back to me, he’s mostly, but not quite, all business-y as he says, “He’s gone. Do you need anything else?”
That’s a good question, and I should say no given the length of my to-do list. But there’s a hint of something more in his voice that I like. I’m revved up from the way he got rid of that jerk. Does he think I’m Haven too? No idea, but if it comes down to it, I’ll make sure this guy knows I’m not my sister.
Because his moves have got me a little hot under the hoodie. Looking back, I might blame the adrenaline for the words forming on my tongue as I impulsively say, “Yes. Can I buy you a drink?”
2
READ THE ROOM
BANKS
Do I always pretend to date random women in bars?
No, I don’t.
But the way that sleazeball crowded her, leered at her, and spoke to her when she clearly told him she wasn’t interested fired me the hell up. If anyone did anything like that to my little sister… My shoulders tighten with tension. I wouldn’t stand for it.
And while I didn’t hear everything he said, it didn’t take a body language expert to know she was telling him to get lost. Sure, I could have just physically shown the man the door—eight years as a Marine means I’m no slouch in the shifting unwanted types along department—but I don’t like to make a scene.
In fact, I’m excellent at not making scenes. Hence the offer to pretend to be her dude for the night.
But something I’m even better at than not making a mountain out of a molehill? Spotting opportunities.