Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Huh?
I try to remember when he would have seen that.
“I came in to say goodbye to you in the morning, and it was on the end of your bed. I hate to tell you, but the list was a complete hit and miss.”
“Oh.”
What did I write?
“You know, I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve got an idea.”
I roll my eyes as we dance. “Whatever it is, the answer is no.”
“Hear me out.” He smiles down at me. “What if I helped you?”
“Helped me?”
“You want to have fun and new experiences, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“But you don’t want to get hurt.”
“True.”
“What if I showed you the ropes?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if . . .” He gives a halfhearted shrug. “What if I coached you through your first few dates?”
We sway to the music. “How would you coach me?”
“I don’t know.” He thinks for a second. “Maybe we could go on a few double dates, and I could . . . observe.”
I frown. “Observe?”
“You know, just watch over you and keep you safe, and you could”—he shrugs again—“have the fun you wanted. The next day, we could go through my observations and tweak certain aspects of your”—he tries to articulate himself—“delivery.”
“Who would you bring to our double date?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” He shrugs again. “I’m sure I can find someone.”
I think this over as we dance. “And what happens at the end of the date?”
“What do you mean?”
“What happens at the end of the night when I want to go home and have sex with my date?” I ask.
“Then you go home and have sex with your date,” he replies. “Hopefully he’s got a good dick and gets the job done well.”
The idea rolls around in my head. “So let me get this straight—you want to coach me on how to be a player?”
He smiles wistfully. “I wouldn’t put it like that, but . . . in a nutshell, I guess that’s a good analogy.”
I think on it for a moment. I do want to play the field, and maybe . . . I mean, if Blake did finally meet someone, I wouldn’t rely on him so much either. “Okay, on one condition.”
“What’s that?” He looks down at me.
“I get to coach you on how to be boyfriend material.”
“Ahhh.” He smiles as he looks out over the crowd. “But there lies the problem. You see, I don’t want to be a boyfriend.”
“So just take the few dating lessons and then don’t be a boyfriend, but you will have the knowledge in your tool kit for later on when you do.”
His eyes hold mine as we continue dancing. “I just want to help you; I don’t need help. When it comes to women, I have my ducks in a row.”
“I beg to differ. Your ducks are completely out of control. Do we have a deal?”
“No. I just coach you.”
“Not happening. It’s a two-way street. It’s both of us or nothing.”
His eyes hold mine, and I can see his brain ticking as he thinks it over.
“Do we have a deal?” I ask hopefully. “You are the only one who I trust to help me with this.” I shrug. “And besides, who else can show me how to be a player better than the best player himself?” I smile up at him. “You were literally made for this job, Blake.”
“Because I’m a red flag?”
“You are the king of red flags.”
He rolls his eyes, unimpressed, and I know I’m wearing him down.
“Come on.” I smile up at him. “Even you know that this is a good idea.”
“Fine.” He sighs.
“Fine what?”
“We have a deal.”
Chapter 9
Blake
I drag my heavy eyelids open and inhale deeply. I glance around my hotel room.
Ahh, a morning without a hangover.
Nice . . .
I lie for a moment in the silence, and then I remember something from last night. I reach over and grab my phone and log in to Foot Finder.
STICKY SITUATION IMAGE
IMAGES SOLD: 32 $22.00
VIDEO REQUESTS: 16 $250.00
I blink and try to focus my eyes. Huh?
What does that mean?
I rub my eyes. Wait a minute—am I seeing this right?
I sit up and really focus.
STICKY SITUATION IMAGE
IMAGES SOLD: 32 $22.00
VIDEO REQUESTS: 16 $250.00
Wait, what?
I’m reading this right, aren’t I? I open the calculator on my phone. Seven hundred and four dollars. My eyes widen. What the fuck? And if I edit the video to make sure no faces are in it and let those sick fucks buy it, that’s . . . I do the math again. Four thousand dollars.
I spring out of bed. What the . . .
I immediately dial Rebecca’s number.
The number you have called is unavailable.
Damn it. Why doesn’t she ever charge her stupid phone? I glance at my suit pants. I still have her key in my pocket from yesterday, when she had nowhere to carry it. I’m going to surprise her.