Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“Are you guys almost done?” Cassie says, and I drop my hands from his, my spoon clattering in the bowl. He stands. “We are almost done, so I’m going to call the shuttle driver.”
“Yeah, that sounds good,” Tyler says as if he wasn’t just behind me. As if I wasn’t a touch closer to kissing him. What the fuck is wrong with me? “We should be finished in about ten,” he says as he sits back down and picks up his spoon to continue eating. “Eat,” he says. It’s the only thing he says, and I don’t bother talking because I don’t trust myself. I’m not even hungry anymore. I eat a bit more and then get up when Autumn says the shuttle is here. I get up at the same time as Tyler; he grabs his jacket in one hand and holds out the other to gesture for me to walk out ahead of him. I get on the bus and sit in one of the seats, and Tyler sits next to me.
I don’t say a word the whole way back as the others chat around me. We get back to the hotel, and I make my way to my room. Wishing everyone a good night when I step out of the elevator as the rest of them go to their own floor, I slide my card in the slot, then collapse on the back of the door, finally letting out the breath I feel like I was holding this whole time. “What the fuck just happened?” I ask the question even though it will go unanswered.
Chapter Eleven
Tyler
This hot actor is headed back to rehab. His ex-wife staged an intervention when he spent three days on a bender . . . by himself. Sources say it was his cry for help.
I’ve been on this treadmill for the past thirty minutes, and no matter how fast I keep pushing myself, it’s not cutting it. I look at the clock on the wall in front of me and see that it’s almost six fifteen. Usually, Jessica is here by six seventeen. I mean, not that I was keeping track, but it’s something I noticed. Last night when I had her hands in mine, and I looked at her, I could almost taste her. I knew if I moved just a touch more, nothing would stop me, but then I heard Cassie’s voice, and my walls went back up. I’ve never been seen kissing in public; that shit is for teenagers. That doesn’t happen to me. I play hard and fuck harder, but I do it in private. You will never see me gracing the fucking tabloids with my dick out. Fuck that shit.
I push myself harder on my run, just remembering last night and the fucking slip. I shake my head because I can’t let it happen again. As I repeat and repeat it over and over again, I hear the door open, and I know it’s her. My body goes on full alert, and I force myself to focus on the building in front of us out the window, but then I see her hands turning on the television, and my head turns to the side. Wrong fucking idea. She walks briskly in her light gray tight fucking pants that mold every fucking curve she has. A tight white shirt that is wide around the sides shows the sports bra underneath of her toned stomach. She puts it on CNN for ten minutes and then plugs her earbuds in and switches to Dateline. She’s nothing if not a creature of habit.
I turn my head forward, not saying anything. I start making a mental note in my head about her; what is it that gets me so worked up over her? Maybe I’m still feeling this way because I felt bad for being an asshole and having her watch that presentation without her name there . . . in front of her peers. Maybe that is why I look forward into the glass, and I see her reflection in the mirror and start breaking her down. Fine, she has great hair; fucking hair I could fist, yanking her head back so I could look at her. Her eyes are mesmerizing. Sometimes they are green like an emerald, or if she’s in the sun, they turn the color of a shamrock. Her smile, when she is really laughing, is amazing, and her whole face lights up. But then when she smirks at me, I want to rip it off her face. Her mouth also; the sass that comes out of it makes me want to pull my hair out of my head.
I toss around whether I hate or tolerate her the whole time I push myself to go faster and faster. I make the mistake of looking over and see her tits bouncing again. Those would have to go on my pro list. Those tits are perfect; they have to be real, or maybe they are fake. Regardless, per-fucking-fection. Also, her ass. Fuck, she’s got the best ass I’ve ever seen—tight, plump, and perfect. I turn the speed back down, slowing the treadmill to a stop. Grabbing the water bottle, I head to the door while she continues to run. I turn to get the last glimpse of her and see that perfect fucking ass, her shirt full of criss-crosses in the back, and her hair swinging from side to side. I groan inwardly and make my way to my suite. I groan even more when I see that Cassie is standing post in my suite. “Not now,” I tell her. “Just leave instructions on the table and I’ll meet you downstairs.”