Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75424 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75424 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“I think I’m almost done,” Kyle calls from the other table. “Come look, teach. See what you think. I’m pretty psyched about it.”
“Be right there,” she says, moving his way, taking a moment here and there to offer words of encouragement or praise to the other players as she passes by.
Grateful for the reprieve from her insanely distracting new sex vibe, I turn back to my paper and put my pencil to the upper left-hand corner. I start sketching, letting my pencil scratch where it wants to scratch and linger where it wants to linger. It feels weird at first—to be drawing without knowing what I’m drawing—but I eventually relax into it, amazed that the more I concentrate on that feeling Evie described, the faster the image on the page takes shape.
By the time the alarm goes off on her phone, signaling that our first drawing session is done, I have a face on my paper. It’s a weird, ugly face, and doesn’t look like anyone I know, but it’s clearly a man with dark hair wearing a jean jacket, and it looks like I made an effort.
Hopefully that’s enough to earn a donut because those things are starting to smell really fucking good.
“Okay, pencils down,” Evie says, clasping her hands together. “Grab your pictures and follow me. We’re going out to the courtyard for the next part of the assignment.”
With only a modicum of grumbling and wondering what our pint-sized art guru is up to now, my teammates gather their artwork and head out the door, several making plans to grab coffee in the breakroom on the way back to enjoy with their donut.
I’m having some happy fantasies about a caffeine and sugar infusion myself when I pass Evie and she cranes her neck, asking, “So you did come up with something. Great work!”
I tip the paper her way, feeling a little shy about my still-crappy drawing skills, but happy that she’s pleased. “Yeah. I don’t know who it is, but I drew him. That trick you gave me really worked.”
Her smile stutters as she nods. “Yeah, it sure did.”
“Is something wrong?” I ask, glancing between her and the drawing.
“Not at all,” she says, pressing her lips together for a beat before she adds, “But I’m pretty sure that’s…my dad.”
Stunned, I glance down and suddenly I see it.
She’s right. That’s Xavier Olsen, staring up at me from the page, daring me to say a word about the way he’s raising his daughter.
Chapter 11
Evie
You can do this. Stay focused.
Everything is going great, management is giving you another chance, and you’re killing it this session. You can’t go off the rails now.
I give myself a mental pep talk all the way down the hall and up the two flights of stairs to the courtyard area where players and staff members eat lunch on sunny days, but my confidence is shaken for the first time today.
And right when everything was going so well!
From the moment the players started filtering into the art room, I realized my makeover might do more than potentially help me get laid in the not-so-distant future. These clothes seem to have other valuable powers. Apparently looking like an adult who has her shit together instead of an unkempt toddler goes a long way to convincing other people that it’s true.
Right off the bat, I noticed a marked difference in the way the team treated me. Even Sassy Sven kept the sass at a respectful level. I’m sure my threat to withhold donuts from anyone who had a bad attitude helped my case, but even before I laid down the law about making an effort in order to earn their treat, most of the guys were on board right away.
Having them draw someone who holds power over them was a good call, too. I tapped into a source of deep feeling and passion and gave them a clear direction for their work that was much easier to get a lock on than the anger iceberg assignment.
I was already planning my write-up for my advisor and feeling proud of the way I adjusted course with the team when Ian swaggered in fresh from a shower, looking even yummier than usual.
But I blamed the way my belly flipped and my nipples tightened when his gaze locked with mine on my jeans.
My jeans are stretchy and tight. They make me aware of my thighs and hips and other intimate parts in a way that I’m usually not. And being aware of those parts makes me think about those parts which in turn leads to thoughts of how much I’d like to rub those parts all over someone else.
Preferably Ian, tonight at our first Hookup 101 meeting.
Sometime in the past two days, my frisky levels have skyrocketed. I don’t know if it’s the new clothes or the makeup or the way men look at me as I walk down the street—in a way they’ve never looked at me before—but I have a bad case of Nookie on the Brain. I actually whipped out my vibrator last night for the first time in months in an attempt to take the edge off, but self-administered orgasms felt empty somehow.