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)
This erection was for someone else, and he’s sending me sleazy photographs of the evidence.
Eww . . .
My phone beeps again.
Now it’s your turn.
Is he for real?
I reply.
You want me to send a nude?
He texts back immediately.
Fuck yeah.
What is he, fourteen years old?
I exhale heavily and drop my phone onto the floor.
Yuck.
Ugh . . . I slide down into the water. Why are men such fucking idiots?
Do I have the sign sleazebag target on my forehead?
Another text bounces in, and unable to stop myself, I open it.
I’m ready and waiting
??
I roll my eyes and reply.
It was nice knowing you.
Not really.
I hit send, then swipe through and block his number.
I get out of the bath in a rush and turn the shower on. Even just receiving that text makes me feel dirty. He’s probably sent that exact cock shot to at least three hundred women. Recycled, used dick.
Ugh . . . gross.
I soap up my hands and begin to scrub my skin.
It’s official: I hate men.
Blake
Knock, knock, knock sounds at the door.
“Who is knocking at this hour of the morning?”
I put my bread in the toaster and walk out to answer the front door. I open it to find Rebecca standing there.
“Bec.”
“Can I come in?” She’s still in her pajamas, and I frown as I look her up and down.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Can I come in or not?” she snaps impatiently.
“Sure.”
“So, I was thinking about what you said last night,” she says as she follows me into the kitchen.
“Yeah.” My toast pops, and I hold a piece up. “Want some?”
“No thanks.”
I go to the fridge and open it. I peer in.
Rebecca pulls out the stool to sit at the kitchen counter and frowns. “What is this?” She holds up a mauve lace bra on her fingertip.
Yeesh . . . What’s that doing there? I snatch it out of her hand. “It’s Antony’s,” I lie.
“Why would Antony be wearing a mauve bra?”
“Because it matches his mauve panties, that’s why,” I snap. “What do you want?”
She sits down on the stool. “What is a douchedar, and how do I use it?”
Chapter 2
Rebecca
“What do you mean?” Blake frowns.
“Well, you said last night that Michael showed up on your douchedar.”
“Yes.” He continues to butter his toast.
“So . . . how did you know he was a douchebag?”
He takes a bite of his toast and smirks. “Don’t tell me the idiot fucked up already?”
I let out a deflated breath. “He asked me for nudes and then sent me a recycled cock shot.”
He smirks.
“This is not the least bit funny, Blake.”
“Little bit.” He leans his behind on the kitchen counter and crosses his legs at the ankle. It’s only then that I notice he’s in boxer shorts, and his broad, tanned chest is on display. Damn it, even Blake is looking good lately. I snap my eyes away.
I really need to get laid. Maybe I should have sent the nudes.
“So?” I ask hopefully.
“So what?” He keeps casually chewing his toast.
“Can you explain the whole douche-radar thing. Like . . . how did you know? What were the signs?”
“Bec . . .” He stares at me for a bit, as if thinking. “I just don’t think you’re ready yet.”
“I am. I know I am.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because I get turned on by the wind changing.”
“Really?” He smirks as his eyes hold mine.
“Yes, really.”
“I know someone who could help you out with that.”
“Will you be serious for just one minute?”
“Only too happy to donate my penis for your wind changes.” He gives me a playful wink.
“Blake.” I widen my eyes. “Are you listening to me at all?”
“Not if I can help it.” He grabs my hand and pulls me off the stool. “We’ll talk about it through the week.”
“I want to talk about it now.”
“Not a good time, Bec.”
“Why not?”
“Blake,” a female voice calls from upstairs. “Are you coming back up?”
Oh my god.
“Who’s that?” I mouth, horrified.
He holds his two hands up, as if he’s just as surprised as I am. “I have no idea,” he mouths back. “Maybe the tooth fairy.”
I roll my eyes. “Can you ever be serious for one minute?”
“No.” He grabs me by my two shoulders and turns me toward the front door. “Go home and go for a run or something.”
“I don’t want to go for a run.” I sigh as I walk out onto his porch.
“Then take a nap.”
“It’s first thing in the morning.” I throw my hands up. “What am I supposed to do now?”
“Forget about men.”
“Why?”
“Because we are no fucking good, that’s why.”
My shoulders slump in disappointment. Even he openly admits it.
“Look.” He sighs as he pulls me into a hug. “I’ll come over later.”
I stand rigid in his arms.
“Okay?” he mumbles into my hair.
“Fine . . .”
“Are you cooking me dinner?” he asks.
“Ugh . . . Why don’t you get the tooth fairy to cook you dinner?”