Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“I don’t do boyfriends, and I also don’t do repeats,” I say.
Still looking slightly amused, he frowns, like I’ve told him a funny story he doesn’t quite believe. “You don’t do repeats?”
“Sequels are never all they’re cracked up to be.”
He barks out a laugh, though it’s edged with irritation.
I pull at the corner of the blanket on my bed to smooth the wrinkles. “One-night encounters make life so much simpler. But this was so good, Shane. Thank you. I’m really glad we got together.”
The man stares at me, incredulous. With his face and body looking the way it does, I suppose he’s not used to being turned down by women. “That’s it?” he asks.
“What more do you want? Oh … are you a cuddler?”
Instead of answering, he gets up and puts his clothes on, snapping each of the items to straighten the fabric before putting them on. I’m sorry that he’s pissed, and I should have laid out my rules earlier in the evening, but I don’t owe him anything.
As he buckles his belt, he says, “I’d think you were saying this no-repeats bullshit just to brush me off, but I know you enjoyed it.”
“I did.”
“You’re going to want more,” he says, pushing the hem of his shirt down into his pants. “I’ll be working at Rusty’s for a while. Come see me when you can’t take it anymore.”
Damn. He has a point. I should have thought better than to sleep with someone I’m going to see at my workplace. I guess if the sight of his sweaty, hard body gets to be too tempting, I can always approach the building from a different direction and go in the side door.
5
Happily ever after
Thankfully, I don’t have to worry about running into Shane the next evening, because I have the night off. On top of that, it’s payday, so I decide to treat myself to my favorite not-so-guilty pleasure.
The bookstore in Whitman gets a lot of my hard-earned cash.
I have a ton of ebooks in my Kindle app — more than I’ll probably get to in my lifetime — but I also love reading actual printed books. I love holding them, using fun bookmarks, curling up in bed with them, and I especially love their covers.
My favorite genre is romance, and they have the best covers.
I’m in the bookstore’s romance aisle now, and more than a little unnerved at how many of the alpha male cover models remind me of Shane. The perfect bone structure, the strong arms, the piercing eyes that made me feel naked even when my clothes were still on …
He was a memorable one, that’s for sure. And just like I expected, he left me with a physical reminder that will last a day or two, that delicious ache between my legs from such hard fucking.
I can usually admire the book cover models without actually getting aroused, but tonight, they’re making me horny. Or maybe it’s just my memories of last night that have my body humming.
Maybe after I leave here, I’ll go to my favorite bar in Whitman and see if anyone looks good. There’s nothing like a new man to dispel thoughts of the last one.
I spot an interesting cover on the bottom shelf and bend down to take a look. When I stand, my eyes focused on the book I’m holding, I bump into someone behind me. “Oh! Excuse me,” I say, before turning to see who I’ve run into.
Maybe I won’t have to go to the bar after all.
The man, who’s also offering his apologies, looks nothing like Shane, but he does look like he could’ve stepped off of a book cover.
Tall and solidly built, with beautiful brown skin and deep, dark eyes, he leaves me at a loss for words.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice deep and smooth. “I was just passing through. I didn’t think I’d get in your way.”
His hands are empty, while I have a small stack of books collected in mine. “Just passing through?” I ask. “You’re not a romance reader?”
His eyes widen slightly before he glances down to the cover of the book I’m holding, which features a woman in a tight, low-cut minidress closely surrounded by two burly, shirtless men whose bodies are covered in tattoos.
The man I’m talking to is wearing a beige henley. The long sleeves are pushed up, revealing forearms that are also covered in ink. When I meet his eyes again, an arch of his brow makes it clear that he noticed me noticing.
“Romance?” he repeats, his mouth curled into a sexy grin framed by neatly trimmed facial hair. “Oh, I’ve already read all of these.” He gestures with his hand to encompass both sides of the long aisle with shelves holding hundreds of books.
“Oh, really? All of these? You’ll have to tell me about your favorites, then, so I can add them to my stack.”