Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
He looks seconds from fetching me the towel I’ve been seeking since I left the suite, but before he can, the blonde he was with earlier parts the thick, curtained walls of the cabana he just left before she steps through them. Her hair is fluffed out, her cheeks are rosy, and her bikini is as minuscule as mine. She is gorgeous—and she knows it.
After plonking onto a barstool in defeat, I set to work on drowning my sorrows. “Bourbon on the rocks, please.” When my sneaky glance at the poolside cabana fails to have my eyes landing on Maksim and his friend, I add, “And my friend will have…?”
When I twist to face the unnamed man waiting to be served, he smirks like he knows jealousy is fueling my motives before saying, “Make them a double, and hold the ice.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Last-minute nerves, or did you wait too long to start downing liquid courage?” The unnamed man making a dent in the Ivanovs’ profits with me the past two hours thanks the bartender for his latest refill with a chin lift before swiveling in his barstool to face me. “You could have given any of these contestants a run for their money.”
I don’t find his comment sleazy. He speaks as matter-of-factly as Zoya and doesn’t appear to sugarcoat anything for anyone.
He’s also kept his eyes from my shoulders up the entire time we’ve been socializing. His lack of interest would have scolded my ego if Maksim’s narrowed glare hadn’t softened it. He’s meant to be judging the competition. If I were a contestant, I’d ask for a recount. He’s barely taken his eyes off me for a second, and I’m not the only one noticing.
His blonde companion has tried to shift his focus from me several times. She raked her nails on his arm, gushed and raved about the contestants, and squeezed his thigh. The last point irks me the most and is the sole reason I’ve downed so many drinks in quick succession.
When my drinking partner coughs, reminding me he asked a question, I reply, “I never planned to participate. I’m here supporting some friends.”
Talking about friends, I leap from my seat when Aleena prances onto the stage seconds after Shevi. They work the stage together like I could have with Zoya if I weren’t such a chicken, and the crowd gobbles up their enthusiasm.
“Yes!” I wolf whistle like it isn’t insulting coming from a member of the same sex and drum my hands against the bar. “Work it, girls!”
If you haven’t realized this yet, the stranger and I have been going drink for drink.
I’m well on the way to intoxicated.
When Aleena wiggles her fingers at the gent next to me longer than she does toward the judges, I shoot him a riled look.
He smirks with wolfish satisfaction before introducing himself. “Kazimir Dokovic.”
I sober up a smidge when the familiarity of his name smacks into me like a freight train. “You’re Aleena’s fiancé!” When he nods like I was asking a question instead of stating a fact, I slap his arm like we’re long-lost friends. “You can’t be here. This is her hen’s weekend. It is meant to be her last hurrah to single life before the shackles are brought out.”
I shoot my eyes to Maksim when a delicious growl rumbles through my body. He’s still scowling, but the crowd’s hollers are too loud for even a fire alarm to be heard, so the source of the rumble must be closer to me.
Next to me, to be precise.
Kazimir looks seconds from blowing his top.
When it dawns on me where his anger could stem from, I say, “Aleena hasn’t stopped talking about you all weekend. That’s why your name was instantly familiar.”
My lie doesn’t offer him any comfort. His jaw tightens to the point of cracking, but since it is now my best friend’s turn to strut the stage in a white stringed bikini, any further assurances will have to wait.
Zoya looks hot, and everyone in a five-mile radius knows that, but I still shout and holler her name like I did for Aleena and Shevi. She deserves my support and could use the prize money even more than I could.
“How friggin’ gorgeous is my best friend?” I ask while sinking back into the highbacked barstool and gathering my recently refilled drink to replenish my dry throat. I screamed my praise so loud three blocks over would have heard me.
The burn of bourbon worsens the tender conditions, but it has nothing to do with the dryness Kazimir’s silence invokes.
He’s no longer seated next to me. No one is. I have the entire bar to myself.
The bartender reminds me that he only mixes drinks and does not offer advice when I peer at him with a raised brow. “Another?”
I barely jerk up my chin when I’m startled from the side.