Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Before the coding, and before the de-bugging, I was lost in pure fantasy. I got the late start on the algorithm because I lost all semblance of self-control, like I always do around her.
…Around Layla. Layla, who is now very much back to living next door to my parents and somehow looking even fucking hotter than she did before.
I’ve lusted after Layla Hughes for years, ever since the day she first bought the place next door when I was still in high school. I mean she was, and still is, a wet fucking dream on two long, toned legs. She’s been my fantasy since the very first moment I laid eyes on her—that tight ass, those shimmering blue eyes. That long blonde hair and the pouty bubble-gum lips I’ve imagined wrapped around my cock countless times.
The fact that she owned a sexy lingerie company just made her a hundred times hotter, too. I didn’t give a shit that she was nine years older than me. Fuck, I didn’t even care that she was married to that walking fuck-wad Jeremy. Believe me, even before the renovations she just finished up a month ago before she moved back here, I could see into and hear enough of that house to know Jeremy wasn’t even touching her.
What a fucking idiot.
I wasn’t touching her either, but I damn well was every single night, in my head. And it’s never stopped. Not when her company blew the fuck up and she pretty much immediately moved to New York. Not when I started hitting the gym and when I went to college. Not through the nameless, faceless girls who were only ever garbage imitations of what I really wanted.
I’ve fucked Layla Hughes a million times in my dreams. I’ve taken her every fucking way a man can take a woman in my fantasies. And now that she’s back, and hotter than ever, and right fucking next door, my obsession with her is only growing bigger.
“Goddamnit, Mason! You’re a grown fucking man, so get out of—”
“I’m up!” I roar. I groan and stand, rubbing the bridge of my nose.
Aside from being right next door to Layla, living here isn’t exactly ideal, nor was it part of the plan. But plans changed when I managed to get kicked out of school. My dad wanted me to come work at his law offices and clerk or be some sort of coffee-bitch assistant to one of the partners. But hell no. I did need a job, but I wanted one that would still give me time to work on my algorithm. So, I found the perfect one, and the fact that it pisses my parents the fuck off is just the icing on the cake.
I got a job with a local pool cleaning company.
My dad lost his shit, of course. He called it “beneath” me, implying “beneath this family” for me to work a job that didn’t involve an office and a suit and tie. My mom had a fucking meltdown and literally cried about what she’d tell the ladies at the tennis club.
But like I said, pissing them off is a solid half of the reasons I took the job.
I yank on a pair of ripped khaki shorts and grab my phone off the desk to call my boss, Mickey.
“Smart guy, what’s shakin’?”
I grin. Mick was pretty confused why a kid living in the Hollywood Hills, enrolled at an Ivy League school, was asking him for a job. But he gave me a shot, and now two months later, I’m pretty sure I’m his favorite employee.
“Not much, man. I think I’m scheduled for a job this morning.”
“Yeah? Hang on.” I hear the sound of a keyboard clicking, and then one of Mick’s token grunts. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Great, where am I headed?”
He chuckles. “Easy commute today, kid. New client up in your neck of the woods.”
I frown. “The Hills?”
“Yeah, I’ll text you the address. But hustle up, I told her bright and early.”
I nod. “Cool, sounds good. Yeah text me, I’ll be there asap.”
“Hey, you actually manage to get out and have some fun last night?”
I almost lie to get him off my case, but I shrug. “Nah. Stayed home to work on—”
“Your computer game shit,” he groans.
“I mean, it’s e-commerce shopping platform, but, yeah, whatever,” I mutter.
“Mason, for fuck’s sake. A good lookin’ kid like you? With your zip code? I tell you what, if I was your age and had that chin, I’d be out there drowning in cooze.”
I chuckle deeply. “Maybe stop calling it cooze and you’ll have more luck with the ladies?”
My mid-fifties employer grunts. “Yeah, I’ll stick with my charming personality.”
I laugh. “Text me that address. I’m out the door in ten.”
From his absence, I’m guessing my dad is already at the country club golfing or pounding gin and tonics. My mother is already on her Peloton set up in the living room puffing away, and she barely pauses when she sees me. “Don’t be late, Mason!”