Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
“The wig goes.” He stuffed my toe into his mouth.
“M’kay.” I sighed, eyes heavy as I sank into the seat. “Where are we going?”
He kissed my big toe, then pushed the hoodie back and slid the new wig from my head, tossing it into the back of the car. Diana Redux landed with a soft flop. Was it big enough to cover all three seats? Didn’t know. Didn’t care. My eyes never left him. Just hoped I remembered to tug the hoodie up once we left.
“Can’t have you lose this shape. Gotta feed you, bébé.”
The way his lips shaped the words, I waited—ached—for them to fall over mine, like they had at HC&PP. The memory rushed in, the warmth of his mouth, the promise … So did the rest. Those boys. That danger. My pulse kicked. Anxiety overpowered desire, all jagged and uneven.
As if he realized my thoughts had scrambled, Montana’s hand came down in a casual pat against my thigh before he kissed my toes again, putting my heels on. He stood, stepped back, and shut the door behind him.
The next hour passed in a blur. We ate too much. Pinks Hot Dogs—even though we were supposed to share one because I had my phone out searching social media for the best spots. Funny how we thought alike. He’d ignored my suggestions about one Jamaican spot before we ended up at another. Underrated. Best jerk chicken of my life. I didn’t lick my fingers, even though all ten begged me to. I had to keep telling myself not to come out of the hoodie that covered much of my face. That food was spicy good! And Montana was giving me that look.
When we arrived at a comedy club, I was warm from the food, resituating Diana Redux. The way he claimed me between his arms. All his. All Big Country’s, I guess.
He took my hand, and we wove around tables beneath low lights. A small stage warned that comedians roasted everyone in the audience just for existing. Uh-oh. We needed to find a seat … farther back.
We approached a small table at the front. Two leather chairs faced the stage. Reserved. Dang, the issues with dating—fake dating—a celebrity.
“We’re supposed to be incognito,” I muttered as he pulled out a chair.
“Bébé, don’t nobody care about us right now.”
For effect, laughter ripped the club in half.
“If someone roasts me, I will eat your big ol’ sexy self alive with some A1 steak sauce.” I slunk into the seat.
Montana claimed the leather chair next to me. “Hope you get the chance. Nico is here tonight. Don’t forget to thank him for these seats before you eat him alive too.”
“What?” I squeaked.
“He’ll know me by the Dodger hoodie, and he hooked us up with these seats.” Montana turned to the server.
“Wai-wait. You didn’t tell him I said …”
“Double shot of Hennessy. Actually,”—he looked around at the crowd instead of addressing me—“Two hennies with Coke. One lemon drop martini.”
Hmmm. He knew my favorite drink. Finally, he glanced into my bewildered eyes.
“Cheesecake, bébé?” he asked.
“Did you tell Nico I said I’m your funniest—”
“That’s it,” he told the server.
She sashayed away in shorts smaller than the Hanes hipsters I bought at Walmart. Should I whack him over the head because he stared at my scared face instead of watching her retreat? Or kiss him. Dang. I still craved a kiss from this man.
After a while, without being roasted like a whole hog, I chilled and laughed with Montana.
Once the hype man announced the headliner, I drank my martini.
“Chill, Sweet Cheeks, and drink up. Nico’s shooting a movie. He’s aware of the joke battle. Said he’s ready for you.”
“Mm-hmm. Do you even know Nico Roman?” The comedian’s name rolled off my tongue, softer than silk. My arms folded. The guy was cute—no denying that. But Montana? Not a flicker of jealousy touched his beautiful skin.
Along while later, I’d hatched a plan while snuggling in Montana’s arms as he carried me inside his home. With each step up the sweeping staircases, I pretended to snore, cuddling into him. Miss Virginia, you’d be proud of me.
If this worked—making him meet me at my level—maybe I’d share my past? For now, I felt safe. Safe, exhausted, and wide awake.
Montana placed me on the bed in the guest room I’d chosen. His lips brushed soft against mine, a whisper more than a kiss.
“I know you done friend-zoned me, bébé. Snore a little louder if it’s a yes—since you really sound like you need a CPAP machine for your sleep.”
My cheeks burned, and I silently scolded him for lying. I didn’t snore.
He chuckled low, the sound softening the darkness. “You hatched that crazy plan while stuck in traffic. I like this, wearing you down.” His mouth touched one eyelid, then the other, feather-light. “Don’t know if I should hope my momma meddling got to you. Bet not be what happened at the restaurant, chère. You’re too strong to be afraid.”