Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Damn, why does he have to smell so good?
“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” I lift my chin, ignoring the way my lips tingle as they shift closer to his. “Just tell me when to pick you up after practice tomorrow afternoon.”
He’s quiet, studying me for a beat before apparently deciding to play along. “Three o’clock. By the team exit near lot G.”
I nod. “Perfect, I’ll be there with bells on. Wear something durable. Something you can work in and don’t mind getting dirty.”
“I rarely mind getting dirty,” he murmurs, the husky note in his voice making my nipples pull tight. “I do mind getting in trouble, though. I seriously can’t afford any more of that right now, Strawberry.”
Trouble…
I’m in trouble. Me and my traitorous nipples.
And the traitorous swoony feelings in my chest.
And the traitorous hands currently skimming down Nix’s ribs to linger at his waist as I whisper, “I’ve got your back, Baylor. Trust me. Okay?”
He pulls me even closer, into something between a hug and the prelude to a kiss, and suddenly all I can think about is how desperate I am to taste him. In that moment, if he’d dropped his mouth to mine, I wouldn’t have put up a fight.
I wouldn’t have even thought to try.
But…he doesn’t.
He draws in a breath, holds it, then pulls away with a nod. “All right.”
“Good,” I say, wobbling a little as I step back and nod back toward the parking lot. “I should go. I have some catering proposals to review before tomorrow. I just signed on to organize the gala for the indie film festival that’s launching in December.”
“Congratulations,” he says, his voice husky, hungry.
Nearly as hungry as I feel as I take another step away from his delicious body.
“Thanks, so…” I clear my throat and force a non-horny smile. “See you tomorrow at three.”
“Tomorrow,” he promises.
As I walk away, I can’t deny how excited I am for him to keep that promise, and not just because I’m looking forward to seeing him play the fish out of water for the cameras.
No, my anticipation is of a more personal nature.
So far, I’m doing a truly shitty job of not lusting after my fake boyfriend.
Six
NIX
Practice runs long.
Coach keeps us drilling power plays until my shoulders burn, and Jean-Louis starts bitching in rapid-fire French. By the time I hit the showers, it’s pushing three, and I’m going to be late.
I dress fast—old jeans, black T-shirt that I don’t mind getting ruined, still damp hair—and push through the team exit at 3:07.
The parking lot bakes under the October sun, heat shimmering off the asphalt. I scan for Charlotte’s car, then realize I have no idea what she drives.
We truly barely know each other.
So why does my chest loosen in a way that feels like relief the second I spy her wavy strawberry blond hair?
Charlotte leans against the driver’s side of a black Range Rover, scrolling through her phone, wearing overalls.
I didn’t realize I had classy farmer’s daughter fantasies, but I’m having plenty of them now. The dark indigo denim clings like it was tailored to her long, lean frame. Underneath, she’s wearing a nearly transparent white button-up with the sleeves rolled to her elbows.
My mouth goes dry.
How does she get sexier every time I see her? And how am I going to keep my gaze from dropping to the deep V of her unbuttoned shirt?
I have no idea, but this is my first chance to start rehabbing my image, and I need to make the most of it. Coach still didn’t look happy with me today, not happy at all, and no amount of effort on the ice seemed to put a dent in his frosty disposition.
So, I adjust myself through my jeans and force my wobbly legs to move.
Charlotte glances up as I approach, her pale green eyes tracking up and down my body, the same way I tracked hers. Apparently, she likes a man in battered, clingy jeans nearly as much as I like her in overalls.
Her gaze lingers on my thighs for a beat too long before dragging up to the slight bulge behind my fly and darting guiltily to my face. “You’re late.”
“Sorry.” I drop my gym bag at our feet. “I couldn’t help it. Coach kept us drilling. I promise, I’d never keep a lady waiting of my own free will.”
Her lips quirk as she pops the back hatch. “Smooth.”
I tip my head. “I try.”
“You succeed. Throw it in, and let’s hit the trail.”
I comply and swing into the passenger’s seat.
The interior smells like leather and her citrus-and-floral perfume, the one that’s been living rent-free in my lizard brain since June. I settle in, trying to ignore the way the enclosed space heightens my awareness of her. The soft sigh she makes as she shifts into gear. The way her fingers curl around the steering wheel. The fact that she’s close enough to rest a hand on her thigh, but I’m not allowed to.