Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
I grab a robe off the chair by the door and throw it on. Wishing I had time to brush my teeth before seeing another human, I pop by the full-length mirror leaning against the wall.
Short lavender sleep shorts, a plain white T-shirt, and bedhead. Nice.
The knock comes again, so I hurry toward the foyer. The sound is either louder, or it’s louder because I’m closer. I haven’t been awake long enough to think that clearly, and calculating distance has always felt like math, which I avoid like the plague.
I squint into the bright sunlight flooding the house. “Who is it?” I call out, running my fingers through my hair in a vain attempt at presentability.
My voice echoes around me as I reach the entryway, and I can’t deny the annoyance thick in my tone. But considering I got virtually no sleep, it’s afternoon and I’m not caffeinated, and I came home alone last night yet again despite putting myself out there like I’ve never done before—whoever is on the other side of the door better be happy that I haven’t checked off the self-defense lessons part of my list yet.
“It’s me.” Brooks’s voice is clear and crisp … like he slept like a baby.
I replayed our conversation a million times throughout the night, trying to determine how this was going to work. He said I’m his for the next week, which—dreams do come true. But we have to do it his way, whatever that means, and if doing it his way means me coming home alone, he’s missing the point.
Most of it, anyway.
I wrinkle my nose. “I’m sorry. Can you be more specific?”
“Why? Do you not recognize my voice?”
“Not really. You vaguely sound like a guy I saw in a bar last night.”
“Was he good-looking?”
“Terribly,” I say, fighting a grin.
“Charming?”
“At first. But he wound up being a jerk so it kind of negated his looks.”
“Did he promise to make you come?”
Oof. I grab the door handle for a bit of stability. “Actually, no. He didn’t. He made ambiguous statements to that effect and then sent me home with his friend which, under the circumstances, felt very …”
Brooks chuckles. “Open the damn door, Doc.”
“Fine,” I say, as if it kills me to give in to him.
And there he stands. Black joggers span his long legs, and a white T-shirt peeks out from a gray hoodie. A black baseball hat sits backward on his head, allowing me a clear view of the scruff dotting his jawline. Does he just wake up this delicious?
“Good morning, beautiful,” he says, toggling a bag in the crook of his arm. He gives me a satisfied smirk as if he knows he’s gotten to me already.
“Don’t try to butter me up,” I say.
“Well, that answers that.”
He makes a face at me as he walks by. The air dances with the scent of his cologne mixed with something fresh. Body wash? Laundry detergent? I can’t make it out, but the combination is heavenly.
“I need to throw some clothes on and brush my teeth,” I say, taking a step back just in case I have morning breath. Some of us don’t get out of bed looking perfect.
“Okay. I brought lunch. Are you hungry?”
“You can just leave it on the table and then let yourself out.” I smile at him. Sweetly. “Good to see you.”
He smirks, plopping the bag down on the table. “I like it when you’re sexually frustrated. This is going to be fun.”
“I think you misunderstood the assignment.”
“Oh, trust me, Doc.” His eyes flash with mischief. “I understand the assignment perfectly.”
Our gazes lock, lingering so intimately that it’s indecent. Neither of us looks away. Neither of us blinks. The heat between us rises, growing more charged and electric as the seconds tick by, and my pulse quickens.
It feels like he’s playing a game with me, but he’s not. He wants me as badly as I want him. I can see it. I can feel it. I can almost taste the temptation in the air. Knowing a man like him—a beautifully controlled storm—wants me is an aphrodisiac like no other.
“Get dressed and let’s eat,” he says, turning back to the bag.
“He says he understands the assignment and then tells me to get dressed,” I say just loud enough for him to hear as I turn my back to him.
My bare feet smack against the hardwood as I race back to my bedroom. Every piece of me tingles and goose bumps race across my skin. I can feel a part of my brain waking up and activating for the first time in far too long. Maybe ever.
And, somehow, it makes sense. With Brooks, I’m freer, feel funnier, and more alive than I’ve been in years. Maybe Heraclitus was right—the tension of opposites generates the music of life.
It takes three minutes to throw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and run my toothbrush around my mouth. I skip skincare and the calf raises that I like to do in the morning because knowing Brooks is in the other room and we’re about to revisit our conversation from last night, I hope, makes me want to run to the kitchen.