Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 84952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
She snorts. “Yeah. That’s gonna work.”
“What?”
“You really believe that you’re going to spend two evenings with Hollis and manage not to touch him. Or be begging for him to touch you? Come on, Riss.”
I swipe my lip gloss off the dresser with a little more force than necessary. “Yes, Bellamy. I do.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t okay me like that,” I say, coating my lips with another layer of gloss. “Just because this mutually-beneficial situation makes it seem like I’m getting all willy-nilly with my take on dating last night, I’m not. Two platonic nights with Hollis will keep my eyes focused on him. There will be no looking at all the delicious athletic man specimens tomorrow night. I’m still anti-athlete. I will be for eternity.”
“I love how you always just go all-in. It’s eternity or bust!”
I laugh. “It’s called commitment, and I’m not the one who has a problem with that.”
“Ouch,” Bellamy says, knowing I’m talking about her and her refusal to even date a man seriously. “So what does Hollis do? What’s his deal?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know much about him, really. He was a good-looking single man standing by a bar when I needed him. I don’t know much else.”
“And I’m the one who’s going to end up murdered?”
“He’s not a murderer.”
“All you know is that he’s hot. There have been hot serial killers.”
I gasp. “What are you trying to do here? Get me to cancel?”
“Hardly,” she scoffs. “I was just pointing out a touch of hypocrisy on your part. I’d totally go with him.”
I set the gloss back on the dresser and try to ignore the hint of jealousy that settles in my stomach. I really don’t know what to do with it.
There’s no reason she couldn’t go with him—not that she was saying that. She wasn’t. She wouldn’t do that. But the idea of Bellamy going with Hollis tonight makes me feel a certain way that I don’t love.
“Okay, Bells. I gotta go. Hollis should be here soon,” I say, shaking my head and hoping the crazy thoughts leave.
“Have fun. Make sure your tracking is on so I can find you if you end up in a ditch.”
“You are a terrible friend,” I joke.
All she does is laugh.
“Talk to you later,” I say.
“Call me as soon as you get home. I want all the details.”
I grab my purse. “There will be no details that you’re interested in hearing.” I head into the hallway with a final look at myself and deposit my purse near the door.
“You’ll have no good details because you’re lame.”
“I’m not lame. I’m just trying to figure out my life over here and not just roll in the breeze.”
“When did you get all judgy?” she teases me. “You get a hot boyfriend, and all of a sudden, you’re a little judgy friend.”
I laugh. “I’m not judging you, and he’s not my boyfriend.”
“Let’s reconvene this conversation in a week.”
“Let’s not.”
“You go rock my dress and look hot and call me later. Love you. Bye.”
“Bye, Bells.”
Before I even hit the button, the doorbell rings.
My head whips toward the door as I end the call. I drop my phone in my purse and check the mirror one last time.
“You got this,” I whisper.
I take a deep breath and tug open the door.
It’s a damn good thing I hold onto the frame with the other hand.
Hollis is downright edible—a word I can never tell Bellamy after our conversation today. It’s safe to say I won’t even remember thinking it because I’m reasonably sure my brain just went dead.
He’s dressed in a pair of dark denim jeans that fit a set of muscled thighs like gloves. A black collared shirt is stretched across his broad shoulders.
His forearms are thick and heavily roped. On one wrist is a series of leather bracelets in a variety of styles.
He runs his hand through his hair, making the strands fall to one side. I know many guys will stand in front of the mirror forever to make their hair appear as though they don’t give a crap about it. But I really don’t think Hollis spent any time on it.
And that makes it so much hotter.
He stands on my doorstep, smelling like rich leather and chewing a large wad of pink bubble gum. He makes no secret of looking me up and down, letting his gaze sizzle my skin with each sweep.
I shiver as I force a swallow and try to remember how to speak English.
“Hey,” he says, the words kissed with a sweet, slow drawl that’s not quite Southern.
I clench the doorway even tighter. “Hi.”
“The gentleman in me wants to say that you look beautiful.” He smirks. “But the man in me wants to tell you that you look fucking hot.”
My cheeks flush. “Well, thank them both for me, okay?”
His smirk deepens.
“Let me get my purse, and we can go.”