Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“Or we could not go,” Lang said from the shower as I was drying myself off. No way could both of us fit in that stall. “And by the way”—he gestured around himself—“reason number 867 why my place is better.”
“Yes, yes,” I placated him.
“You have all the stuff I left over here, don’t you?”
“Yes, princess, I have it.”
“You’re so funny,” he said, quickly lifting the shower wand over the top of the stall and shooting water at me.
“That was helpful,” I deadpanned, drying myself all over again.
“Don’t be so lippy,” he warned, and I noted his hooded gaze as he stared.
“What?”
“I’ve decided that lying between your thighs is my new favorite thing in the world.”
I felt my face flush with heat from his sincere words and the fresh memories, and could not face him. I turned away fast.
“Hey,” he said, hitting me with the water again.
“Oh, for crissakes!” I yelled, spinning around. “We are never gettin’ outta here.”
“Like I care,” he said, his smile lazy and his voice like honey. “Come here.”
The man was incorrigible and sexy, and I was drawn like a magnet to steel, reaching the shower door as he rolled it open.
His wet hand wrapped around my throat fast as he leaned out and laid a kiss on me that had me clutching for the towel bar. Unfortunately, unlike his in his bathroom, mine could not take even a fraction of my weight. It collapsed right away, taking some crumbling dry wall with it to the floor, along with the towel he was supposed to use.
“Reason number 868 why my place is better,” he said flatly.
I only shook my head as he cackled.
We stopped for pizza because, for the most part, everybody liked pizza, and even if we were late, somebody would be later and need to eat. We also picked up a couple of bottles of a chianti Lang liked on the way.
Miro and Ian lived in Lincoln Park, which was a nice part of town, on a lovely tree-lined street, in a beautiful brownstone. A wrought-iron gate opened onto a walkway leading to steps to the front door, where at the moment, Eric Pazzi was standing doing a really good impersonation of a lawn ornament.
“What are you doin’?” I asked him, carrying three large pizza boxes, walking ahead of Lang, who had the wine.
“I was admiring the vintage architecture,” he told me, and I noticed he had a bottle of tequila with him.
“That’s smart,” I told him. “Tequila is always a better choice than beer.”
“Yes. Not as many calories.”
“Plus, you can do a lot more with tequila. Shots. Mix drinks. Good call.”
His smile transformed his face, and I returned it.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Lang grumbled. “I took a shower so I wouldn’t smell like sweat, so will you ring the damn doorbell?”
Pazzi hesitated.
“Give it a rest, Eric,” Lang said, using his first name like he never did. “If they didn’t like you, they didn’t have to invite you. We’re all on the same team. You just need to trust your instincts more.”
“Every time I trust my instincts, something horrible happens,” he replied, sounding terribly forlorn.
“Well, then trust Yamane’s until yours kick in,” I offered. “That’s what your partner is for—to be your backup. And he’s been a great one to you. Everybody says so.”
He nodded.
“You’ll be fine,” I told him. “Now ring the bell.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Great men are not born great, they grow great,” Lang told him.
“What?”
Instant scowl from him. “Are you kidding? I’m giving you sage advice and you don’t know what that’s from?”
“It’s from The Godfather,” someone said behind us, and when I turned, there was a beautiful woman there with long, glossy black hair and big dark-brown eyes. “Which is full of wonderful advice, it’s true, but really, we’re melting. Ring the bell.”
After he pressed the doorbell, I smiled at her. “Most people don’t remember the lesser-known lines,” I praised her.
“Well, this one,” she said, tipping her head toward the guy behind her, who looked a lot like Chris Hemsworth when he was playing Thor, “loves that movie. I’ve seen it too many times.”
“It can never be too many times,” Lang offered, looking at the thunder god.
“No argument,” the guy said, grinning back.
“Hey,” Ian said happily as he opened the door. “Two of my favorite people and some other guys are standing in front of my house.”
“No,” she corrected him. “That one has a great bottle of tequila, this one has pizza from Pistores, and this gorgeous man has my favorite chianti, so let us in.”
Ian put up his hands in defeat, and I realized I really liked her—not to mention, she’d noticed that my boyfriend was breathtaking. Not that her husband—the diamond ring on her finger was not small—was not a stunning specimen himself.
Inside it was packed, and Miro came to greet us, thanked us for the pizza, and took it from us to the kitchen.