Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 156146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 781(@200wpm)___ 625(@250wpm)___ 520(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 781(@200wpm)___ 625(@250wpm)___ 520(@300wpm)
“You’re not?”
“I. Am. Not.”
Part of him felt this shouldn’t be a shocker.
That said, he’d never met anyone who was successful who wasn’t a morning person.
And he’d clicked through her shop’s impressive website, read every word about her Fabulous Foot Forward project, had numerous examples of how well she dressed, her pad was the shit and he’d found out last night that she wasn’t yet twenty-five.
She was definitely successful.
“It might have gone better if you hadn’t mixed whisky sours with wine then downed three boilermakers at the speakeasy,” he noted.
She didn’t quite bite back her audible groan.
Obviously this meant he had to keep at her.
“The boilermakers were a revelation. I’d never peg you as a beer girl.”
“Blech,” she mumbled.
“But I’m impressed,” he went on, letting his eyes move down to her body, a mistake since he got an eyeful of gold and cleavage. He lifted them again to her shades. “It didn’t affect your ability to trick yourself out this morning. Though, is the inside-sunglasses-wearing a thing with you? Or did your hangover give you vampiric tendencies?”
“I’m not hungover.”
He chuckled at her lie.
“I’m not,” she asserted. “Sasha has a smoothie she taught me to make that works wonders. Thus, I added it to my ritual.”
It was an understatement that he felt super fucking good that he’d broken through with her the night before, or maybe it was when they were at her dad’s place.
And he knew he did because he didn’t have to push her for more.
She just offered it up.
“Before bed on a night of imbibing, I drink a tumbler of water. Upon awakening the next day, I take my vitamins, two migraine tabs, eat an egg on toast while I drink two more glasses of water, and I chase all that with Sash’s smoothie. After that, voilà, hangover managed.”
He couldn’t see most of her face, but what he could see, she wasn’t bullshitting him.
And it had to be said, he fucking loved she used words like “suited,” “upon” and “voilà” without a shred of irony, not to mention said that last with a hint of a genuine French accent which was classy as hell.
“So what’s with the glasses?” he asked.
Those glasses slid away from his face.
He gave her a gentle shake.
She pushed out a harassed sigh, turned again to him and shared, “My hangover regime is flawless. But even ten minutes with my chilled gel eye patches hasn’t done much for my puffiness.”
“I don’t care about puffiness,” he returned, and added, “I’m sure you’re still gorgeous even with it.”
She lifted her chin. “Thank you, but this is something you’ll never know due to the fact these glasses will not be coming off until the puffiness has vanished.”
He grinned down at her.
She studied him a moment then asked, “Are we going to stand together in my entry with our arms around each other for an hour?”
“Is that an option?”
“No.”
He smiled. “Bummer. So I guess, no. Though, we’re going to do it long enough for me to tell you how much I like your friends, how cute you are with them—”
“I’m not cute,” she cut him off to say. “Neither are they. We’re all almost painfully erudite and urbane, to the point people in close proximity become more sophisticated just being in our presence.”
The best part about that, he had no idea if she was kidding or serious.
“Is that so?” he asked through another smile.
“Of course,” she sniffed.
“I have to admit, I learned a lot when you and Mi got in that three-hour discussion, dissecting all of Moira Rose’s outfits on Schitt’s Creek. Me and Jacob were gripped with interest, especially considering the visual aids you forced on us as you looked them all up on your phones. I hope you two didn’t mistake him falling face first into his mule. He wasn’t falling asleep, he was in deep contemplation about the pros and cons of ‘aggressive accessorizing,’” he teased.
“We didn’t discuss it for three hours,” she huffed.
“It felt that way,” he muttered.
Her chin tipped just enough, he knew behind her glasses she was rolling her eyes.
“To finish what I was saying,” he continued. “My favorite part of the night was making out on your front step for half an hour when I brought you home.”
Her nose scrunched but her body pressed closer to his.
Yeah, that was her favorite part too.
“And I’ll repeat my gratitude for your invitation to stay the night,” he kept on.
It had killed him, and he’d questioned it a dozen times since he’d declined.
But they weren’t there yet, she was drunk, and the bottom line was, it wasn’t cool.
“A gentleman would not remind a lady of her inebriated indiscretion,” she rebuked.
“Wait. Sorry, you should know, I’m not a gentleman.”
She clicked her tongue, but she did it with one side of her lips hitching up.
“Do we need to head out to meet your friend?” he asked.