Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
As the hope to forget on her face fades to oblivion, I mull over my reasons for not working on my home turf. Offering my services to her pro bono could cause more conflict than it’s worth, and Ravenshoe is the only place I can be myself, but can I even call it work if I volunteer my time?
People take on pro bono cases all the time, so why can’t I? It isn’t like I’m being put out. The woman standing across from me is beautiful. I wouldn’t hesitate to take her home if I hadn’t unearthed a conflict of interest.
This goes against every rule I have, but fuck it. It’s one night, and you only live once, so I’m running with it.
“Why pay for services when you can get them for free?”
The brunette slowly lifts her head before she angles it to the side. Unlike her sexy, fuckable body, her confused expression is adorably cute.
“Free? Where? The ad said services start at two fifty, and that’ll probably only get me Bucked Tooth Bobby for a quarter of an hour. Besides, no one works for free. Not even you.”
Her smile about her witty comment slips when I ask, “Are you sure about that?” When the shock in her eyes shifts to need, I adjust the span of my thighs before tilting my pelvis forward so she can’t misinterpret what I’m saying. “And can you really call a one-night stand work?”
3
KELSEY
With my heart thumping as fast as my clit, I stare at the stranger I approached before anyone else, confident his laidback demeanor would have him considering my offer more than the pompous men behind him would.
His jeans are designer, and I’m reasonably sure his Vans are limited edition, but with his button-up shirt’s sleeves rolled to his elbows and covering a casual white tee, he seemed more down-to-earth than every other Ravenshoe local or tourist hogging the sidewalk.
I was also curious to discover if his generosity was as all-encompassing as his sexiness. Santa walked away with a mini jackpot, but people are more willing to part with their hard-earned money when that’s all that’s on the table.
I didn’t make it inside Valentino’s foyer. I chickened out before breaking through the entry door—a good two minutes before I remembered I had no means to fund my walk on the wild side.
But instead of going home like a loser, I took the advice of a man in a Santa suit that looked so authentic I’m confident “made by Mrs. Claus” is stitched inside the fancy threads.
He said the help I was seeking was inside the restaurant I was darting past. Since I couldn’t tell the man I had a crush on when I was five that a wholesome meal isn’t the warmth I’m seeking, he guided me inside the restaurant without an objection firing from my lips.
The blame for the rest of my foolish ruse falls on my shoulders.
Butterflies took flight in my stomach when I noticed how many single men were lined up to enter the restaurant known for its exorbitant menu prices. They turned into a full-blown frenzy when I spotted the man helming the line. He was the devastatingly handsome man standing at the taxi stand who almost caused me to trip. If it weren't for Santa’s beard, I would have fallen flat on my face at the feet of the alluring stranger whose panty-wetting features kept flashing through my head when I was willing myself to enter Valentino’s.
He was the very image I was planning to conjure while striving to bring myself to ecstasy with nothing but my fingers and a handy little gadget I used to store in the kitchen so Peter wouldn’t be made aware of his shortcomings.
I thought it was fate. Then I remembered that foolish notion belongs to the people who think they’re so special they can take a day that’s for everyone, like Christmas Eve, and try to make it their own.
Don’t look at me like that. I was dragged to that date kicking and screaming. My fight only ended when the wedding planner advised the next date available for Peter’s family church was three years away.
Peter’s family would have disowned him if he’d had a child out of wedlock, so I begrudgingly accepted the date on offer since I didn’t want to be fifty with a ten year old.
I swear to whatever religious entity you believe in that I tried to walk away from the handsome stranger with as much gall as I fought with not to steal Christmas Eve from families. I told my libido no, that you can’t walk up to a stranger, ask if they’re single, and then if given an appropriate response, hit them up for casual sex.
That’s unkosher and not cool.
So I tiptoed around the idea that I was considering hiring an escort to get the job done, hoping he’d take pity on me and offer his services for free.