Series: The Laws of Opposite Attract Series by Vi Keeland
Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“Crap. Okay, thanks.”
“Where the hell are you that you have the top down?”
“I got a sitter and took my wife for a drive. The wind in our hair is making us feel young and free, instead of like the parents of two little kids we are, usually in bed by eight.”
I chuckled. “Well, enjoy it.”
“I plan to. Why do you think I need the top up? I just pulled into a quiet rest stop, and I need a little privacy, if you know what I mean.”
“Ugh. Don’t tell me that, dude. I don’t want your bare ass all over my seat.”
“No promises, my friend.”
I shook my head. “God, I hate you. Goodbye.”
After I hung up, the knockout looked over. “I’m not usually rude, but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation,” she began. “I once bought a new car. When I picked it up, I found an empty condom wrapper on the floor of the front seat. I made them give me another car.”
I smiled. “My buddy and I swapped vehicles for the weekend. I’m considering keeping his crappy ten-year-old hunk of junk and letting him keep my nice, new one after his ass cheeks have rubbed all over the leather.”
“I think that’s a good idea. Unless…”
“What?”
“What if your friend has a penchant for car sex? I’m afraid that would mean he’s already done it in the one you’re driving.”
I pointed. “Good observation. I’ll just get mine detailed.”
The beautiful woman smiled again, and I found myself wondering if she had lipstick on or if her lips were naturally that color. They were just a little more pink than the fleshy red I’d expect for someone with her skin tone. Or maybe she wore some sort of gloss, because they were also perfectly shiny.
After a much-too-long analysis, I realized I probably looked like a creeper staring at her mouth and diverted my eyes to the menu the bartender had dropped off. Though I still couldn’t stop myself from stealing glances in between reading about the appetizers. There was something compelling about her. It might’ve been that her face wasn’t painted to fake-perfection like most women these days.
A few minutes later, I looked over and noticed her glass was empty. So I took a chance. “Can I buy us another round?”
She bit her bottom lip. “Ummm...”
I held my hands up. “It’s just a drink. I won’t invite myself over to the empty seat next to you.”
She smiled. “Sure. Why not? Thank you.”
I held two fingers up to the bartender. “Another round for both of us. On me, please. And when you get a chance, I’ll take an order of the Mexican street corn chicken tacos.”
“Oh, gosh,” the woman said. “I love Mexican street corn. That sounds delicious.”
“Oh, so now you want me to buy you drinks and dinner?”
She waved her hands. “Oh, no, I wasn’t suggesting—”
I smiled. “I’m teasing.” I looked back at the bartender. “Make that two orders of the tacos, please.”
“You got it.”
“Well, now that you’re buying me food and a drink, I feel obligated to offer you the vacant seat next to me.”
“Oh, no. There’s no obligation, really.”
She grinned. “I’m teasing, too.”
I laughed, but I also got up and walked over to her. “Is this seat taken?”
“It’s not. But I can’t promise no bare butts have been on it.”
“I’ll risk it.” I sat and held out my hand. “Brayden.”
“Alexandria. Nice to meet you, Brayden.”
“You, too. Are you a guest at this hotel, or just came in to flirt with a guy and get him to buy you dinner and drinks?”
She smiled. I liked that she could take a joke. “I’m staying here. You?”
“Same. What are you in town for?”
“I’m volunteering for a charity that renovates houses near hospitals for patients who can’t afford a hotel while they’re getting cancer treatment.”
My jaw fell open. “Are you serious? You’re volunteering for Ryan’s House?”
“You know it?”
“I’m the founder. But once a year, I also volunteer to swing a hammer. This is my once.”
“Really?”
“Let me get this straight. We drink the same drink, both love street-corn tacos, both dislike ass imprints on our car seats, and we’re volunteering for the same project? Do I just propose now? Or should I wait and see if you love candy corn as much as I do?”
Her eyes sparkled. “I love candy corn.”
I covered my heart with my hand. “Alexandria Foster. It even has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”
The bartender interrupted our love fest to deliver our drinks. When he walked away, we were both still smiling.
“So you really founded Ryan’s House?” Alexandria asked. “How did that come about?”
“Almost a decade ago, I lost one of my best friends to leukemia. Ryan and I were both engineering students in college when he started treatments. He spent a lot of time in the hospital and became interested in designing prosthetics with more flexibility. We started working on ideas together to pass the time during my visits. After he passed away, I continued with some of the concepts we’d come up with. Long story short, a couple of years later, I got a patent on a new type of prosthetic joint simulator. It’s licensed to most major artificial-limb manufacturers now. I tried to split the profit with Ryan’s parents, but they wouldn’t take anything. So his half goes toward buying the houses we renovate each year for Ryan’s House.”