Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
He hangs up, and soon my guests arrive and my late-night game begins.
But as I deal, I keep thinking of the man who winked at me on national TV. Who blew me a kiss. Who shot me a video.
I lose every hand.
Which makes me that much more determined to surprise him soon. And I know exactly how I’ll do it.
9
ALL MY PAST MISTAKES
Rafe
The next morning, I run along the San Francisco Bay, fog curling across the water, and try to solve the riddle of the third baseman. My running partner is thirty feet in front of me. So typical of Christine. But the distance leaves me with my thoughts—and that damned video. It plays on a loop in my head now. I’m . . . addicted.
I first saw Gunnar at Edge a week ago. My reaction to him was instant and primal. Pure chemistry. Before I knew his name or his taste or his scent, I wanted one thing—passionate sex with no strings attached.
But after challenging him, after he turned the tables on me, my want has shifted. I need more.
I’m not planning a romantic evening at a trendy new restaurant. I’ve been there and done that. I’ve walked down the path of emotional intimacy, and been led unexpectedly into the dark, nightmarish world of betrayal and deception. Love is a thief, and trust is its right-hand man, aiming a trigger at your heart.
Romance is off-limits for me and has been for some time. But Gunnar is too addictive to be an easy one-night stand. I liked the video he sent, certainly, but our phone call too. There’s his swagger. His confidence. His way with words, his daring attitude.
I haven’t wanted someone like this in ages. But Gunnar is a puzzle I need to solve. He’s full of contradictions to explore.
I want to tease him. Edge him. Make him beg for me. Fuck him into blissful oblivion.
My heart rate has nothing to do with the run and all to do with the dirty movie playing out in my mind.
I’m nearing the Ferry Building, and I need to clear my head or Christine will see right through me. My pulse pounds and my thighs shake over the final stretch of pavement as I let myself go blank, focusing only on the burn in my lungs.
Finally, I catch up with Christine, pacing in front of the terminal. Her dark hair is slicked back in a ponytail, and her face glistens. She’s grinning, though, because she beat me.
“Glad to see you still can’t catch me,” she says, waving over her shoulder toward the route we just finished.
“Glad to know you’ll never let my head get too big,” I reply.
She flashes a sweet smile that might fool others, but not me. I’ve known her since business school in London, when we bonded as two scrappy, come-from-nothing dreamers who made something of themselves. She runs a fitness empire—her affordable workout clothes are sold worldwide, including at her gyms, which are likewise reasonably priced.
“I trust I’m succeeding?” my London-born friend asks.
“My ego remains thoroughly subjugated,” I say, and she scoffs but still looks pleased to be the winner there too.
We walk along the water, talking as the fog burns away. “You were wretched at poker last night, Rafe,” she says, arching a questioning brow. “So, what’s on your mind?”
“Who says anything is on my mind?” I ask, evading the question.
She adjusts her ponytail. “I’ve learned your tells. You were distracted since you didn’t play at your normally ruthless best.” With that, she gestures to the entrance to the terminal. “Coffee? Tea?”
“Tea,” I say.
We head to our regular coffee cart, and she asks, “So, who is he?”
I turn to her with a dismissive laugh. “Why would you assume a man is distracting me?” Another dodge. Everything with Gunnar feels . . . private. I don’t know that I’m ready to share.
“I recognized that faraway look in your eyes,” she says, knowing me too well. “Who’s the guy?”
I sigh, frustrated that I’m so obvious. But Christine’s a true friend. She’s in my inner circle, and I trust her. “I met him at a club.”
She hums appreciatively. “Wait. Give me the visual first.”
I smile privately at the thought of Gunnar on the phone, telling me I’m such a visual person.
We reach the coffee cart, quickly placing orders, and I answer her while we wait. “The visual: Athletic. Muscular. Square jaw, blue eyes. The most confident, cocky person I’ve ever met.” But still willing to be led. That may be the most intriguing part. “He’s also charming.”
“Sounds delicious. As long as you don’t fall in love, propose, and nearly lose your mind and heart over him, what’s the problem?”
I sniff. “Thanks for the reminder of my past mistakes.”
“That’s what friends are for,” she says, squeezing my shoulder. “I won’t let that happen to you again.”