Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
But maybe that’s what I like about him.
In unison, not having the decency to take turns, my friends get loud, shouting to be heard, brandishing me with opinions how horrible Rome is:
He is rude.
He is an arrogant prick.
He is a tyrant.
Yup, well aware. But there’s also something about him that no one else sees—a vulnerable side that I want to know.
I gravitate toward him like a moth to a flame, and for the sake of me I cannot figure out why.
But I do.
I don’t just have a crush on him; I have the hots for him. And God, I hope that stays inside my mind—please don’t let me word vomit secrets out of my mouth.
“Let’s just drop it, okay? And drop the guy search as well. I don’t want to sleep with anyone in this place.”
“Because you want to sleep with the boss,” Gen practically shouts.
“Maybe.” My answer is delivered shyly, receiving a round of grumbles from the peanut gallery—they cannot help them-damn-selves. Ugh.
“Look, I think he’s hot, and one passionate night wouldn’t kill either of us. God, his hands . . . I want them all over my body . . .” Fueled by alcohol and wishful thinking, I blab on. “I want to know what it feels to be gripped by those powerful giant paws. Ugh. I want to feel his lips sucking on the side of my neck, right? What it’s like for that asshole to command my body.” I glance around at everyone’s stupefied expressions. Shrug. “I don’t think that’s too much to ask, do you?”
No one says a word.
Gen’s mouth falls open. “You want to bang the boss?”
I nod.
I do want to bang the boss.
So hard.
“Wow.” Vivian gives me a dreamy look, Kimberly’s lip is caught up in a very unladylike snarl, and Gen . . .
What the hell is Gen doing?
Head down, typing away on her ever-present iPad, she’s got the biggest grin on her face, smiling to herself and no one else. A tech geek, she pounds away at the pad, tapping quickly on the screen, the warm glow reflecting light on her red lips and pretty face.
Seconds pass.
Until.
She turns the screen toward us, presenting us with a blank email ready to be typed up.
“I don’t get what you’re doing,” drunk me says. “Why are you sending work emails on my birthday?”
“It’s for your birthday. Your gift from me. So, happy birthday,” she announces, handing me the iPad.
Drunk me looks in my lap, seeing the iPad glaring up at me. Blinding. I blink, focusing my eyes.
“Uh, what’s this?”
As I stare her down, the screen lights up her way too pleased expression. “I set you up with an anonymous email address at Roam, Inc.” I get a nudge with her forefinger. “Go ahead, Pey, tell him how you feel.”
“What?” My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. “Are you insane?”
“Yeah, that is one bad idea.” Kimberly downs the rest of her drink. “Like, really, really bad.”
“Why?” Gen crosses her arms, affronted.
“Because she could get fired, that’s why.”
Gen pops a piece of popcorn in her mouth. “She gave her two weeks’—who cares? He’s not going to know who it’s from, and that’s the best part.” More popcorn gets stuffed down her gullet. “Besides, it’s not like he’s going to give her his business once she’s gone—not that asshole. He’s too stubborn.”
Kimberly nods slowly, warming to the idea. “Yeah . . . yes. I love it. Yes. Do it, Peyton. Send him an email. Tell him you want to screw his brains out.”
“I’m not—I don’t want to screw his brains out.” I want him to screw mine.
My fingers trace the cursor blinking on the screen, just waiting for a command. I stare at it, biting on my bottom lip, then glance at the door.
The one he just blew out of without a backward glance.
“Do it, Pey.”
“Do it.”
Do it.
I want to.
I want him to know how I feel.
My finger hovers over the keyboard; I inhale a steady breath, again biting on my red bottom lip.
Skin warm.
Brain muddled.
And type.
Chapter Four
ROME
Fucking O’Rourke.
I’m going to kill him the next time I see him.
I’m going to shove one of those stupid fucking caramels down his throat and force him to choke on it.
Come out with me. Come hang out. You need to get some action. Let me help you get laid.
Not that I need help, but I fell for it, for O’Rourke’s crap, and then the prick stands me up.
Me.
Fucking leaves me at the bar, looking like a chump as I scan the less-than-stellar establishment he chose, searching for my friend.
But nothing.
No sign of the bastard.
Instead, I got a text saying he met some woman at another bar and was on his way to her place. Suggested a raincheck. His exact words: Dude, you’ll never believe this, but I met a twin and she’s DTF. Have a drink on me. Take it out of my next paycheck.