Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
“It’s not all that matters.” I stand, circling around my desk and stepping into her path. “Do you feel even remotely guilty about trying to con your way onto my team? Is Ryan in on this?”
“No, and he doesn’t need to be. This is my story, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes for authentic research.” She lifts her stubborn chin, not wavering for a moment. “Gender inequality in the workplace is a huge issue. And as progressive as S and H is, you and my brother are still operating under the misguided assumption that an organic snack machine and free tampons in the bathroom are all it takes to create a supportive work environment… and…” Her nose wrinkles, and her breath rushes out. “What are you staring at?”
“Your, ah…” I swirl my finger in the general area of her mouth, where a strip of brown fuzz dangles precariously from her upper lip. “Your porn ’stache is falling off.”
“Did you hear a word I said?” Clearly flustered, Ellie tries to push the thing back onto her face, inadvertently tearing off the other half. “And it’s not a porn ’stache. It’s—shoot. I had a feeling this would give me trouble.”
“It was too close to your lip. Hold still.” I cup her chin, tilting her face toward the light. Beneath her drawn-on man-brows, thanks to colored contacts, her normally blue eyes are dark brown. But they’re still Ellie’s, still swimming with hidden depths and a vulnerability that sends my heart jackhammering.
Without the mustache, her lips are full and soft, practically begging to be kissed, and it’s all I can do not to devour her right here.
Forcing myself back to the task at hand, I press the mustache into place beneath her nose, my thumb brushing the corners of her mouth. Her skin is silky smooth, her upper lip glistening with a sheen of sweat that has me wondering what the rest of her body looks like when it’s glistening, bare and glowing after I’ve brought her to the edge…
Fuck. This is bad. Real bad.
I should back off, put some distance between us before I do something incredibly stupid, but I can’t seem to stop touching her. Can’t pull my fingers away from the velvet heat of her skin…
Get it together, asshole.
“All set,” I manage, forcing myself to return to my chair and silently count backward from ten.
“Thank you.” She pats a finger across her lip from left to right, pressing the mustache in place. “This was kind of last-minute. More of a prototype disguise, really. I just need clothes that fit, some better glue, and—”
“No. You need a better idea. Ryan will never go for it.”
“I can pull this off, Jack. It’s the best way to get what I need. I’ve experienced the culture here as a woman—now I need to do it as a man.”
“But you’re not a man,” I say.
And God, don’t I know it. Crossing paths every day in the office last week was hard enough. Touching her? Staring at her mouth? Wondering what it would be like to taste those soft, lush, entirely female lips?
Yeah, I’m totally fucked.
“Please, Jack.” She settles back into the chair across from me, fingers interlaced in her lap. “It’s not like you’re Mr. Rulebook. Ryan doesn’t even have to know.”
Please, Jack? Don’t tell Ryan…
The words echo in my memory, and I fake a cough to hide my chuckle.
Had to be, what, eight years ago? Harvard winter break. I tagged along with Ryan for the holidays, crashing on the couch in their old man’s basement. Night after Christmas, I’d just lit up a joint I’d been saving when I heard footsteps on the stairs.
I tried to play it cool, but Ellie knew right away what I was up to. She flopped down on the couch next to me and nudged my knee with her snowman slipper. “Can I try?”
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” I said. “You’re not even old enough to drink.”
“If you’re drinking that stuff, you’re doing it wrong.” She held out her hand and wriggled her eyebrows in that goofily cute way she had. “’Tis the season for sharing, Jack Holt.”
Wordlessly, I caved, mesmerized by the curve of her lips as they encircled the joint. She sucked hard, making the end crackle and glow.
Then she turned green.
She coughed up half a lung, and I figured out pretty quick she’d never smoked before. Didn’t deter Ellie, though. We shared the rest of it, watched some old Romero zombie flicks, and planned an apocalypse survival strategy with the kind of excruciating detail only the stoned can appreciate.
Then she went all in on a bag of Cheetos, freaked out about her father coming downstairs, and passed out on the couch. I spent the wee hours of the morning on the floor, shivering my ass off in a pair of shorts and a black Henley covered in her bright orange fingerprints.