Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 94579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
My arms cross defensively. “Stacy.”
His face is a blank canvas, impassive, stony, and directed at me. “Are you going to tell me your name again or not, because if you don’t I’ll just give you a nickname—I have a pretty good one already, right up here.”
He taps his skull.
I make a hmph sound they probably can’t hear over the noise. “Scarlett.”
His mouth curves. “Sober Scarlett.”
“Oh so you think you’re clever now cause you can alliterate?” I hold up my red plastic cup, not bothering to hold back the biting comment on my tongue. “Got any other set of skills?”
I wish I didn’t sound so defensive, but these guys are bringing out the worst in me.
“You wouldn’t know what to do with my other set of skills.” He chuckles, pleased with his innuendo, thinks he’s being clever. Tessa must agree because the cheesy line throws her into a giggle fit.
Gross, Tessa. Just…no.
Get better taste in men!
Honestly, what is it with these guys?
Bunch of douchey jockholes congregating in one small space. The room lacks oxygen—that must be why they’re acting like assholes.
I smirk at my own joke but am still unable to figure out why Tessa and Cam find these idiots so damn charming, especially with how rude they are. Crude and unoriginal, Ben and Derek have one modicum of sense between them. I can tell by the cold glint in Derek’s eye that he’s a colossal asshole and is reining it in for my friend’s benefit.
Never have I ever met a bigger pair of douchebags.
I sigh into my water cup. What a shame. God wasted all that talent and those incredible bodies on these two creeps.
Amazing bodies, average personalities.
What dicks.
Derek’s face goes from a scowl to a megawatt smile when his buddy Ben reappears. “Heads up, Cock Blocker, the cavalry has arrived.”
Cavalry? Cock Blocker?
I glance around—is he talking to me?
He must be drunk.
From behind, I feel a large hand gently gripping my shoulder, the sizzling weight of a heavy palm and splayed fingers reheating my upper torso. Surprised that someone is touching me from behind, my head swerves, gaze settling on a large, tan hand with square-tipped fingers covering my shoulder.
Short nails. Rough pads.
Manly.
My eyes trail up, following the arm attached to that hand. Travel upward, over a muscular, bare forearm. Lift their way to a set of wide shoulders. Meet an unsettling pair of curious green eyes, a strong, straight nose.
Full, downturned mouth.
Five o’clock shadow.
The human attached to the massive paw is just as handsome as the others, not in a beautiful way, like some athletes tend to be, but good-looking just the same. Add in the the fact that he’s the only other human here not wearing a ridiculous Halloween costume?
Major points.
Imposing and intense, his gaze beams down as his fingers give my shoulder a light squeeze, refocusing my attention on his face.
His eyes are a diluted green, crinkled at the corners with laugh lines, like he smiles easily when he’s not glowering at people.
Pillow-soft lips set in an unreadable, unhappy line, he’s irritated, but not in the same way his friends are. I can tell immediately that he’s friendlier, but right now he definitely means business.
Holy crap is he intense.
Broody, I wonder what his problem is and why he’s got my shoulder in a vice. What is it with these damn baseball guys? Why are they so grumpy? Did someone piss on their third place trophies?
My eyes widen when he dips his torso to get closer, warm breath brushing the outer shell of my ear. Leans down, broad chest grazing my back as that exquisite, pouty mouth speaks slowly into my cerebellum. Reverberates down my spine.
“Can you follow me for a quick second? I gotta talk to you.”
I shiver.
Inhale—of course I do—because he’s wearing cologne and it smells good and I can’t stop myself.
It’s what I do.
“Where do you want to talk?” My eyes stray to the front door, to the staircase leading to the second floor. To the kitchen, where I filched the water inside my cup and the bottle inside my bag. To the screened porch out back.
Cameron watches the exchange with rapid interest, eyes wide as mine, mouth twitching. She’s practically drooling, licking her lips.
“Over by the front door? This won’t take more than a few seconds. It’s too loud near the speakers to say what I have to say.”
What the hell could he possibly want?
And why is he so damn handsome?
I stare at the pronounced bow curving the top of his lip.
God, his voice. It’s deep and clear. Even with the pumping bass in the background, I can hear every syllable, the timbre sending an extra shiver of exhilaration down my spine.
“Just so you know, I’m fluent in karate.”
“Fluent in karate,” he deadpans, knowing I’m totally full of shit. “You don’t say?”
I slice through the air with my hands for good measure. “Yes, so make this quick.”