Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 90257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
After a couple of silent minutes, she tips her head back, leaning further into my touch.
“This reminds me of when Mom would brush my hair when I was a kid.” Her voice turns wistful. “I miss that.”
“I remember.”
Surprise fills her coffee-colored eyes. “You do?”
“Yeah. Sometimes she’d do it in the kitchen before braiding your hair.”
The way her lips lift into a smile is like a junk punch. I’d do just about anything to have her look at me like that all the damn time.
Silence settles over us again as those disturbing thoughts circle through my head.
When she stifles a yawn, I drag the brush through her thick strands one final time before reluctantly setting it on the vanity.
She blinks back to awareness. “I’m tired.”
“It’s pretty late. You should hit the sack.”
Her hair floats around her shoulders as she beelines to the bed and tosses back the covers before slipping beneath them.
This girl is going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow morning.
I clear my throat. “Do you have some painkillers around here?”
“On the counter in the bathroom,” she says around another yawn.
“All right. I’ll be right back.”
I swing away, disappearing into the small room off the hallway before tapping out two pills and then heading to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. Once I return to the bedroom, I give her the medication and she guzzles down half of the chilled liquid.
After resettling beneath the covers, her gaze locks on mine as her brow furrows. “You’re being weirdly nice.”
It’s like there’s an invisible string stretched taut between us that continues to draw me closer against my will. In a matter of seconds, I find myself at the edge of the mattress, staring down at the pretty picture she makes.
How tempting would it be to slide between the sheets with her?
Instead of admitting that she’s right, I pick up the paperback on her nightstand and turn it over to see what she’s been reading. It’s a surprise to find a bare-chested man on the cover. No matter what I was expecting, this wasn’t it.
I take a closer look.
Exactly how many abs does this dude have?
There’s no damn way this image isn’t photoshopped.
Sure, I’ve got abdominals, but not eight of them. And I spend hours a day working out, keeping myself in tip-top condition.
I glance at her. “I didn’t peg you for the romance novel type.”
A smile quirks her lips. “It belongs to Carina. She claims there’s a lot of stuff I can learn from it.”
Interest piqued, I skim a few pages. “Oh yeah? Like what?”
She cups her hands around her mouth and drops her voice to a loud whisper as if someone might overhear her. “Sexy stuff.”
I raise a brow. “And have you?”
Color blooms in her cheeks as her gaze flickers away. “Yes.”
Before I can delve deeper into this interesting convo and ferret out specifics, her eyelids drift shut. Within a matter of seconds, she’s snoring softly.
I glance from her to the paperback still clutched in my hand before turning it over and reading the blurb on the back. It’s a college romance about a hockey player and the girl who falls for him.
Interesting.
I slip my phone from my back pocket and snap a pic of the list and then the book before settling in the papasan chair crammed in the corner of her room and stretching out my legs.
How can I leave Juliette alone when her roommate is still out partying?
What if she throws up or something?
Guess I’ll just stay and wait. Once Carina returns, I’ll head back to the house.
And while I’m here, might as well take a peek at all the sexy stuff she’s been reading.
CHAPTER 11
JULIETTE
It’s the bright sunlight slanting through the window and penetrating the delicate skin of my eyelids that has me reluctantly surfacing from a deep slumber. Unwilling to give in just yet, I roll over and groan when the throbbing in my head picks up tempo, thudding an insistent beat that refuses to be silenced.
Oh god.
With my eyes squeezed tightly closed, I raise my arm, bringing my fingers to my forehead to rub gently. It feels like there are tiny men inside my brain gleefully hammering away. I’ve never been a person prone to migraines, but if I were, this is exactly what I imagine one would feel like.
I don’t understand…
What the hell happened last night?
Another tortured groan escapes from me as an image of belting back a cup of beer at the party flashes through my brain.
And then another.
And probably a couple more after that.
Argh. My roommate might have twisted my arm to attend, but she certainly didn’t force me to drink to excess.
Exactly how many did I have?
Three?
Four?
Good lord…five?
How do people party like this every weekend?
Here’s what I know—I’m never drinking again.
Ever.
One and done.
Painkillers and water.
That’s exactly what I need.