Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Yeah, me either, but I did it anyway. Now the moody man is madder than ever, but I came prepared to strike a deal.
One he can’t refuse…
Crew Taylor is the picture of perfection, if gruff, grumpy, and prone to throw a punch is your type. Clearly, it’s mine or I wouldn’t be begging him to bite the bullet and claim my virginity as his own.
Sure, he’s a bit of a caveman, broody and bossy and oh so naughty, but that’s sort of the point.
He’s experienced, his heated hazel eyes promising sinful skills in seduction, and I want him to teach me all he knows.
Lesson by lesson.
Night after night.
The problem?
He says he won’t allow me in his bed … but I wonder what it would take to get him to play in mine a bit?
Releasing September 23rd
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
Davis
“I don’t have much time, Baby Franco, so let’s hear it.”
My lips pinch at the nickname, something he’s called me since I was twelve, the blatant reminder that I, above all freaking else, am the baby of my family—his chosen family, that is until he washed his hands of us, unlike the faded nightclub stamp smeared along his knuckles.
It’s whatever. He showed, didn’t he?
Sure, he threw himself in the chair across from me, without so much as a one-armed hug, and buried his face in his phone before bothering to look at me, but again, he is here, which is more than I can say for the last several years.
Who’s counting, right?
It went from seeing him every single day—as one does when their bedroom is directly across from your own—to every other, to once a month, then twice a year, and as of yesterday, he broke an entirely new record for us. It’s been almost three years to the day since the two of us have been in the same place, at the same time, and even then, it was for no more than a wave through a dusty Mazda window, which, considering his apartment is less than a ten-minute drive from my own, is telling.
And, apparently, it’s not long enough for him if the annoyed sigh pushing past his cherry-ChapStick-covered lips clues me into anything. I’ll wait him out, though, because I need his undivided attention in order to ask what I brought him here to ask, so I sit back, waiting for the moody man to look up.
Several more moments, a couple seat shifts, and a flash of a frown later, he finally does. Dark, hazel eyes rimmed in gold meet mine and the hint of irritation rising in my throat simmers.
My gaze softens, a small smile pulling at my lips at the direct sight of my brother’s best friend.
Best friend turned foster brother turned ex best friend, that is.
As if his thoughts mirror mine, as if I’m nothing but a reminder of the friendship he lost, Crew winces, flicking his attention away.
“When was the last time you woke up this early?” I tease, glancing at his disheveled hair and last night’s hoodie.
A ghost of a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, but he doesn’t quite let it loose. “Been a while.” A single beat passes, a second sigh leaving him as he leans forward, arms crossed flat on the tabletop.
Crew’s eyes skim over my upper half in a long, slow pursuit, and with each passing second, the deeper the creases along his forehead become. “Your hair’s different.”
“Oh.” Subconsciously, I reach up, running my fingers through the soft caramel-colored strands. “Yeah, I thought it would be fun to go a little darker.”
“And shorter.”
I nod, squashing my hands between my thighs to keep from touching it again. I had forgotten what I’d changed about myself since the last time he saw me. Chopping my long dirty-blonde hair and going brunette had been a random, rash decision, but I love it. It’s short, hanging just above my collarbone, sleek and spunky. My hair never held curls anyway, so now it’s ten times easier to jump up and head out the door, not like I ever spent too much time trying to do much more than that, but still. My life had become a monotonous merry-go-round—a boring circle I wanted out of—with new hair, I at least saw something new in the mirror each day.
I also stopped wearing—
“And no more contacts?” It’s as if he reads my mind.
An anxious laugh escapes, and I uncross one leg, recrossing them the opposite way beneath the café table.
“My dad has to take me off his insurance when he retires this summer, so I finally gave in and had laser eye surgery.”
“You’re afraid of needles. And doctors.”
My mouth opens and closes, his sharp memory a surprise, and I give a small shrug.