Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 106(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 106(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
Nadia
Moving into a shoebox studio at #1 Love Place was a dream come true for me. I'm not sure what I expected, but I didn't expect him.
I first saw Julian "Jay" Vale being walked by his dog—literally. There is nothing funnier, or hotter, than watching a Greek god of a man get bossed around by a ten-pound Platinum Frenchie. When he caught me laughing and walked over with that devastating grin, my brain short-circuited.
Now, I’m seeing him everywhere. In the lobby, by the mailboxes, near the elevator. Every time our eyes meet, my knees go weak. I know I just got here, but my heart is already trying to move in upstairs.
Jay
I’ve never believed in love at first sight. Lust? Sure. Feelings? Definitely. But looking at Nadia Mirewood standing on the sidewalk felt like getting hit by a lightning bolt. She’s beautiful, she’s funny, and she’s the only woman who’s ever made me forget my own name.
I knew the second I saw her that she was mine. The problem is, I need to convince her of that without looking like a stalker.
Good thing I have a secret weapon. My Frenchie, Salty, will do anything for a treat—including tangling his leash around the prettiest girl in the building. I’m playing for keeps, and I’m not above playing dirty to make sure Nadia falls just as hard as I have
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER ONE
NADIA
Being a third-grade teacher the week before spring break is like trying to wrangle thirty sugar-high squirrels with nothing but your wits and a rapidly diminishing supply of patience. I lost my voice somewhere between the morning spelling quiz and the afternoon art project gone wrong. What started as a neat bun is now a wild tangle with at least two pencils stuck in it, and my black pants bear the battle scars of dried Elmer's glue. The three tote bags I'm hauling might as well be filled with concrete, especially the one containing everything I've had to confiscate today.
But I survived. I only hope the security cams missed my personal breakdown in the teacher’s lounge.
One tiny mercy is that my apartment is only a two-block crawl from the school. Of course, there’s a downside—those two blocks are basically the Appalachian Trail, especially when you’re dragging three loaded totes. My current speed is somewhere between “retirement home mall-walker” and “zombie whose legs got chewed off.” My reward for all my hard work is my very own studio apartment in #1 Love Place, which sounds like the location for an adult hotline, but is actually a steel-and-glass “luxury” high-rise right in the heart of Worthington Hills.
I drag myself up the front sidewalk, clutching my tote bags, and praying my legs don’t fail me now. My lungs are on fire. My calves burn. I’m limping in a way that’s humiliatingly close to a waddle. But #1 Love Place towers in front of me, all modern glass and steel. God, I love my new apartment building.
The sidewalk leading to the main entrance is surrounded by this ridiculous, golf-course-green lawn that’s so perfect it looks fake. Seriously, there’s not a single weed and absolutely no rogue dandelions.
To the right, there’s a whole dog park fenced in with black wrought iron, and a winding walking trail lined with tiny, colorful wildflowers. A Frenchie in a neon raincoat is currently terrorizing a poodle twice his size. The poodle’s owner looks like she’s rethinking her life choices.
And then I see him.
The hottest man I’ve ever seen in my life. And that’s saying a whole lot since I once accidentally wandered through a shirtless firefighter calendar signing at the Worthington Hills Mall.
He’s tall, dark, and dressed like James Bond’s hotter, meaner cousin, but he’s totally losing a battle of wills with a twenty-pound French Bulldog in a raincoat. The dog is platinum white, stocky, with its face set in an expression that screams, “I run this town!” He yanks on the leash so hard, Gorgeous Man sort of half-stumbles, and I realize he’s not walking his dog. This dog is walking him.
My mouth goes dry like every last drop of moisture has evaporated. I slow down without even meaning to and stop to stare as Gorgeous Man tries to reason with his tiny dictator. His voice is gentle, and he’s got a smile that could melt steel beams. His eyes are soft when he looks at the little one, then his gaze flickers up and snags on me, and my insides spark and stutter. My heart does a weird little flutter, and for a second, I forget how to breathe at all.
My heart squeezes while my lady bits wake up and sing. My shy side kicks in, and I try to angle past them, keeping my head down. But my exhausted body betrays me. My tennis shoe catches on a crack in the sidewalk, and as I pitch forward, my life flashes before my eyes.
Okay, not my life, but the last thirty minutes, which was mostly glue, crayons, and a third grader named Parker trying to convince me he’s being “haunted by the spirit of SpongeBob.” I lurch, arms windmilling, at least two tote bags swinging like medieval weapons. I’m about to faceplant straight into the hard concrete.
But I don’t actually fall. Big, steady hands wrap around my biceps and yank me upright before I can even squeak. I glance down, finding the tiny Frenchie firmly wedged between my ankles, snorting at the inconvenience I’m causing.
I blink up, way, way up, and I’m locked into the most unfairly beautiful brown eyes I’ve ever seen. His glasses are slightly askew, and he’s got just enough scruff to make me want to run my fingers over his jawline.
Holy. Shit. He’s hot. He towers over me, and every inch of him is sharp lines and raw power, all caged up in designer fabric with a stupidly perfect face. His jaw is so chiseled it could probably cut glass. His mouth is full and soft and made for sin. I want to kiss it. He’s got a dark wave of hair, artfully messy, and expensive designer glasses. For one second, I forget my name.
“Whoa,” he says, voice all low and smooth. “You okay?”