Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Good point. “Okay, well, I’m going to Sunnydale.”
He waits as if he expects me to expound on the topic. The longer he waits, the more irritated I get. He wants to know? Fine.
“I’m meeting a guy over there,” I say.
His head nods slowly, but his face remains passive. “The asshole ex-boss?”
“Nope. Because even I have lines I won’t cross and being engaged is one of them.”
“Who is this one?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Nothing. Just asking you a question.”
I take a deep breath. “His name is Brock.”
“What’s he do for a living?”
I snort. “I don’t know.”
He screws up his face like he’s confused.
“We don’t talk about what we do for a living, Banks. I’m not into him because he’s a banker or a used-car salesman, you know?”
“Is he nice to you?”
“I don’t know,” I say, laughing. “I guess so. Why? What a weird question.”
“You said that your boss was a dick. I’m just wondering if you only choose assholes or if that was a special occasion.”
I stand. “Oh, no. They’re usually dicks. Why? Do you want to join the harem?”
Banks keeps a side-eye trained on me as he moves across the kitchen. He opens a drawer under the microwave and rummages through it.
“Is there a reason he’s not picking you up?” Banks asks.
Huh? “Because I have a car. When is the last time you picked up a woman for a date? Not that this is a date.”
He slams the drawer shut and looks at me. “I pick up Gloria every Tuesday afternoon, thank you very much.”
Gloria. The old woman who Ashley was telling me about.
I hold his gaze, grinning. He grins back. His smile is blinding.
“Where’s your car?” he asks.
“In Maddox’s driveway.”
He walks by me. “Let’s go.”
Okay.
“Did you just pull that thingy out of your silverware drawer?” I ask, following him.
“No. I’m magic. It appeared out of thin air.”
What? I have so many questions, but I don’t know where to start.
He slides on a pair of sandals before we exit the house. I follow him across the lawn, taking the opportunity to appreciate his ass in those shorts and his shoulders in the sunlight.
He squats next to my back tire. “Which one do you think is low?”
“I have no idea. It just says low tire.”
“That one is fine,” he says, moving to the front. “Maddox could’ve done this for you, you know.”
“Yeah, but he was up pretty late.” I blow out a breath. “They are so loud.”
Banks smirks.
“I mean, I get it,” I say. “They’re in the honeymoon phase of things. But still. I felt dirty listening to it.”
He gets up and walks to the other side of my car.
“What do you do on Sundays?” I ask.
“Depends. We all have dinner at Mom’s, though.” He looks up at me. “Are you coming today?”
I shake my head. “Believe it or not, I don’t want to disturb your entire family dynamics.”
“As much as I love that for me, they wouldn’t mind.”
“Would you mind, Banks?”
He grins, getting up and going to the last tire. “I always mind when you’re around.”
I grin too. Because I think he’s lying.
“Do you just not want me to see your girlfriend?” I ask, poking for information. I don’t know why—it doesn’t matter. Still, I’m curious. “Are you afraid I’ll tell her you threw me into the pool like a barbarian?”
Surely, he wouldn’t have messed with me so much if he had a girlfriend. And looked at me like he wanted to do very dirty things to my body. Even as I consider this possibility, I don’t think it’s true. That kind of game doesn’t seem to be something that’s in the Carmichael men’s genetics.
He stands, dusting his hands off. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. Busy, I guess. I work a lot.”
“That’s a cop-out answer.”
He leans forward and smiles. “That’s the truth.” He rocks back away from me. “What about you? Why do you have so many boyfriends?”
“I don’t have that many,” I say, scoffing. “And I wouldn’t call any of them my boyfriend.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. It’s not like that between us.”
He lifts his chin. “What’s it like between you?”
I have half a notion to blow him off and tell him it’s none of his business—because it’s not. But he doesn’t seem to be judging me at all, just curious. Concerned? I’m not sure. But whatever it is, it has me answering him.
“I don’t want a boyfriend,” I say. “But I want the benefits of having one.”
“So you want to have sex.”
“Right.” I grin. “I want sex, but not the other crap that goes along with it. I just don’t have the stomach for it.”
“What kind of crap?”
“You know, the wanting to tell me what to do with my time. Expecting me to be a certain person. Thinking that it could end with marriage.” I shrug. “I’m not into that kind of dating.”