Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
For a girl who lives for physical touch? This is big, big trouble.
“I think it’s superficial,” he says, setting my leg down carefully. His eyes don’t meet mine. “And it doesn’t look angry.” He backs away as I tug my pant leg back down. “Do you dumpster dive often?”
“No. Not often. I don’t actually enjoy sorting through trash, but it’s a necessary part of the hobby sometimes.”
“And that hobby might be …”
I hop off the table. “I like to make art out of things people toss away, like cans, newspapers, and buttons. One of my favorite pieces is a fountain that I made from a urinal. It’s so fun.”
“That sounds …” He pauses. “Gross.”
I laugh at his reaction, and his chuckle joins mine. Together, it fills the recording booth with an easiness that’s hard to find with men. That’s one of the reasons Drake and I get along. Beyond his sittable face and fuckable body, he’s a pretty likable guy.
“What about you?” I ask, standing beside him. He’s a good six inches taller than me, and I have to look up to see him. “What are your hobbies outside of armchair quarterbacking sports teams?”
“I don’t armchair quarterback sports teams.”
“You decide whether it was a good call or a bad one after the fact. That’s the literal definition of armchair quarterback.”
He shakes his head, but his half smile erases the sarcasm. “I analyze players and games, discuss sports news and culture.” He taps the tip of my nose. “If you listened to an episode, you’d know that.”
“How do you know that I haven’t listened to an episode?”
He shrugs. “Just a hunch.”
“I know you think I’m just a pretty face, but I played volleyball in middle school. I know a thing or two about sports.”
His chuckle rumbles through me. “I didn’t realize I was standing next to one of my peers.”
“See?” I grin. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
I return to the other side of the table and retrieve my purse, phone, and keys. Drake checks his phone, chuckling at something on the screen. I’m curious about what he’s seeing and who sent it. I really don’t know much about him. Who are his friends? Where does he live? What does he do for fun?
Is he a good fuck?
“So what are you doing this weekend?” he asks as I hoist my tote onto my shoulder. “Any big plans?”
“I’m meeting my friends for dinner tonight. And I’m supposed to have a date tomorrow night, but we’ll see.”
“Hopefully, you’ve met your dream-crushing quota for the week, and he’ll be spared from your wrath.”
“You’re hilarious.” I stand next to him again. “Matthew and I have gone out a few times. It’s nothing new.”
“So Matthew understands he could be crushed at any given time?”
I bump Drake with my shoulder. He humors me by pretending to be knocked off balance.
“We’re not serious,” I say, thinking about how just un-serious my thing with Matthew really is—which is why it works out perfectly. I glance down at my phone and spot a text from Astrid. “I need to get out of here. I have a few errands to run before I meet my friends for dinner.”
Drake opens the door and waits for me to exit first. Once in the hallway, we face each other. His smile lifts mine as Juni makes her way around us, muttering something under her breath that has her shaking her head.
“Don’t forget to check your tetanus shot records,” he says.
“Yes, Daddy.”
His blue eyes darken, resembling a raging storm.
I give him a sweet, innocent smile and leave with the upper hand.
CHAPTER
THREE
Gianna
“Have I ever told you two how much I appreciate that you’re not completely unhinged?” I slide into my usual seat beside Audrey. “Because if I haven’t, let me do it now.”
“Bad day?” Astrid asks from across the table.
I plunk my tote next to her purse on the empty chair to my left. “No, I had a great day, actually, and we can get into that later. But I’ve just spent an hour and a half haggling with a woman online about the price of an old coat tree. I need a stiff drink.” I sigh. “A stiff cock wouldn’t hurt, either.”
Audrey’s cheeks match the color of her blush-pink cardigan.
I settle in my seat, attempting to let go of the stress saddling my shoulders, and listen to their banter about the music playing overhead. It’s opera, so I have nothing to add to the conversation. The only music I understand usually includes cowboy boots. When we first discovered Stupey’s, I found their switch to opera music in the evenings to be a bit disturbing. Like … what the heck? Now, though, I kind of like it. I pretend I’m the main character in an action movie and the bad guys are about to come in … and I save the day.