Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
“Great.” She groans, and I almost laugh.
“It’s fine, just play it cool.”
“Uh, Reese?” he says, his tone unsure as he stops a foot from us.
Her shoulders fall, and her forehead drops to my chest. Then, after a deep breath, she tips her head back and glares at me like this is my fault before spinning around.
“Kirk.” There is no warmth in the greeting.
“I thought that was you. Then I wasn’t sure because...” He glances up at me quickly before refocusing on her. “Wow, you look amazing.” He lets his eyes wander over her and her dress, and I want to punch him in his fucking face so fucking bad. Instead, I wrap my arm around her and tuck her snugly against my side.
“You are?” I ask, playing stupid. He pulls his eyes off her to meet my gaze.
“Kirk Finer. And you’re Brodie Larsen. I used to watch you when you played for Tennessee.”
“How do you know my girlfriend?” I ask, again playing stupid but also wanting him to know she’s mine. And yes, she is mine, and I don’t give a fuck that we’ve only shared one kiss or haven’t talked about where this is going. I’m claiming her. We’ll figure out the rest with time.
“We were…”
“What we were doesn’t matter.” She cuts him off, and hurt fills his eyes as he looks at her.
“I’ve tried to call and text.”
“Sorry, I’ve been busy.”
“Kirk.” A blonde in a tight red dress walks up to join us, and I feel Ree’s spine stiffen as the female who looks like every sorority girl I’ve ever known slides her arm through Kirk’s. “I’ve been looking for you.” She smiles up at him and then looks at us, her plastic smile firmly in place before her gaze lands on Ree.
“Reese?” Her smile slides away, and her eyes widen.
Shit, this must be the stepsister.
“I…” Kirk glances at whatever her name is and then looks at Reese, remorse slashing through his features. “Can we talk?” He glances at me quickly, while Ree’s nails dig into my side through my tux. “Alone? Just for a few minutes.”
“Sorry,” I cut in before Ree can respond, then look down at her. “We need to go find our table, baby.”
“Of course.” She leans her weight into me and then looks at Kirk. “Have a good night, Kirk.” Then she dips her chin toward the woman on his arm. “Melissa.” Turning her away from the two of them, I start walking her through the room, then lean down and whisper, “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t expecting to see him, and I really wasn’t expecting to see her, so I just…” She glances up at me. “I don’t know what I feel right now besides blindsided.”
“That’s understandable.” I squeeze her hip, and she returns the gesture by squeezing my waist.
“Thank you for rescuing me again.”
“I didn’t rescue you.”
“You did by not giving him the opportunity to talk to me alone.”
“That wasn’t me rescuing you, Ree. That was me being selfish and territorial,” I mutter honestly, stopping at the board where the table assignments are laid out.
“Well, still. Thank you.” She presses her body into mine. “Where are we sitting? And please don’t tell me we’re sitting with them.”
“You’re safe.” I point at the list of people at the table with us. “Do you want a drink before we go over?”
“Yes. Tequila. I’ve never had it, but I’ve heard it’s the go-to drink when you want to wake up the next day with no memory of the night before.”
“How about a glass of wine since I’d like you to remember tonight?” I laugh and lean down, touching my mouth to hers without thinking. She kisses me back with ease.
Chapter 12
Reese
Picking up my drink, I take a sip while listening to the woman seated next to me talk about her husband, who is not here tonight because he has a soccer match in London tomorrow. From what I’ve gathered, he’s world-renowned, yet I have no idea who he is. Not that that means much of anything. There must be over two hundred famous men and women in this room right now, and even though a few of them look familiar, I don’t know any of their names.
Which is sad. I could probably make a killing if I stole a stack of napkins and walked around asking for autographs to sell on eBay.
“I love your dress. Where did you get it?” she asks, and I place my glass of wine on the table. I really should have gotten tequila.
“My aunt got it in Paris twenty years ago.”
“Oh, I love vintage. It’s beautiful.” She leans back from the table to expose more of her dress, and I take that as my cue to return the compliment.
God, I really do suck at this.
“I love your dress, too. That color is really nice. It reminds me of a flamingo.”