Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
We’re standing just a couple of feet away from each other, both of us leaning against the kitchen island counter. He stopped eating, his gaze now fixed on...my lips? My eyes? I feel the heavy, pleasant weight of his attention all over.
“I can see why Lucas has the hots for you,” he says.
“Who?”
The corners of his lips turn up in a smile. “Right answer. He’s our goalie.”
“Oh.” I clear my throat, forcing my gaze away from his.
My eyes land on one of his hands. It’s resting on the island and it’s enormous. My mind wanders to what it would feel like to have that hand running up my thigh. His hands are so big that he could cup my entire ass in both of them.
“Go take your shower so we can go out,” he says, winking.
“Okay.”
Suddenly, going out doesn’t sound so bad anymore. I turn on a playlist and shower with my favorite coconut shower gel, moving quickly. Afterward, I cover myself in lotion, telling myself it’s just because I want to and not because I don’t want dry skin if Dane happens to...encounter any of my skin later.
I can’t let anything happen between us. It would undermine my professional relationship with him. I’ve seen colleagues lose credibility with clients over personal relationships. Jane even lost a big client once when her relationship with their company’s CEO went bad.
A night out won’t hurt anything, though. Maybe there’ll be some flirting, but as long as we each go to our own beds after returning home, it’s okay.
It’s a good thing I spent some money on new clothes that arrived here while we were gone for our road trip. I wouldn’t have wanted to pull something wrinkled out of my backpack for tonight.
After dressing in formfitting black pants, a silky dark-green cap-sleeved top and low, strappy black heels, I put on light makeup and walk back into the kitchen.
“Dane?” I call out.
When he doesn’t respond, I check his bedroom and bathroom, which are both empty. I walk back out to the living room, wondering where the hell he went.
My heart skips a beat when I see a note taped to the back of the front door. My heels click against the wood floors as I walk over to read it.
I need a night out alone. Don’t worry about me.
Dane
I read it three times, my heart sinking a little more each time. Tears of frustration fill my eyes.
He played me. He turned on the fake charm and pretended to like me, all so he could bolt as soon as I got in the shower. And I fell for it like a complete idiot.
I’m angry, but more than that, I’m humiliated. What a fool I was, moisturizing myself for him while he was laughing and driving away.
I can’t even go look for him because I have no idea where he went. Slipping out of my heels, I send texts to Jenn and Elena, telling them to let me know if they hear about Dane being out somewhere.
If he gets into trouble, we’re both sunk. He’s suspended, and it’s especially important that he not be seen out partying right now.
Not that he cares. The one and only thing Dane Foster cares about is himself.
I won’t forget that again.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Dane
“Another?” the bartender asks me, almost sounding impressed at this point.
I get it. I’m also surprised I’m still upright on the barstool. I’ve been here for hours, drowning every emotion in whiskey before it has a chance to surface.
Feelings bad. Whiskey good. That mantra has gotten me through the past four years, so why mess with it now?
“Did I mention she has great legs?”
Marti, the bartender, nods as she refills my shot glass. “A couple of times.”
I’ve been talking to Marti since the bar cleared out around eleven p.m. She’s a married mom of two adult kids, so I don’t have to worry she’ll think I’m trying to pick her up.
“Last one, Fred. And I’m not letting you walk out of here and get into a car, just so you know.”
I give her a foolish grin, wondering what the hell I was so wound about when I got here. “My name’s not really Fred. Shh.”
“You don’t say.”
I tip back the shot glass and set it on the wood bar top. “You know your shit, Marti. Ain’t nobody gettin’ a lie by you, is they?”
“Not a chance.” She uses a white towel to dry a tall glass. “So you like this woman, but you also don’t like her, right?”
I cringe as I consider the question. “She drives me crazy like...eighty-seven point forty-two percent of the time. But the other fifty percent...” I put my hands out in front of me, trying to demonstrate...something. “I just want to push her onto the bed and...you know what I’m sayin’?”
“Yep.”
She puts the glass back on a shelf and takes another one from the sink of soapy water.