Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 94834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
I’m just about ready to set it down when the man fishes in his pocket and hands me two packets of charcoal sticks, exactly what I’d requested. I take them from him eagerly, recognizing the expensive brand across the packaging. A brand I’ve always had to skip out on. Motioning toward the platter, I give him a hopeful glance. “There doesn’t happen to be a sketch pad hidden in here?”
“A sketch pad?” he questions, looking back at me in a panic. “My apologies, Miss. I was not informed that you required a sketch pad. I’ll have someone go to pick one up. Is there any brand you prefer?”
“No, no,” I say, glancing across at Zade, who watches me with a stupid smirk across his stupid face. He must have purposefully not mentioned the sketch pad when he put in the call. “I don’t want you to go to any trouble. It’s fine, I’ll make do without it.”
“As you wish,” he says with a nod before Dalton whips out a fifty-dollar bill and hands it over. My eyes widen, watching the exchange, and a fierce longing rumbles through my chest. I’d kill to get tips like that on the regular. Perhaps I’m in the wrong field. I wonder if Zade would be so kind as to give me a job here. That way I could hit up all the rich pricks who come waltzing through the door. They couldn’t be any worse than the assholes who frequent the bar. The only difference is the rich pricks have cash to blow.
The hotel employee scurries away to get back to work, and I drop back down to the court before diving into my burger. Those eight minutes of running up and down the court really killed me. Perhaps a little exercise is in my future.
The burger looks delicious, and I bite into it before noticing that Zade’s stare is still firmly locked on me. “What’s his probl—” I cut myself off as it hits me.
Chili. There’s chili on this burger and a shit ton of it.
My mouth starts to burn and my eyes bug out of my head. “Holy fuck,” I pant, scrambling for my Diet Coke and drinking half the glass through the skinny straw, feeling my eyeballs start to sweat. “Who the fuck puts that much chili on a burger?”
“Oh?” Zade questions, pure satisfaction in his dark eyes. “My mistake.”
Rat bastard.
My mouth burns and I don’t bother with a response, far too busy trying to scoop the ice cubes out of the glass and rapid-fire shoving them into my mouth, all while Dalton, Cross, and Sawyer just sit back and laugh.
Sawyer glances at the burger. “I take it you’re not going to eat that?”
I shake my head, the burn slowly starting to ease. “Have it, but if you even look at my fries, you’ll be on all fours with a collar and leash around your neck before you even know what’s going on.”
Sawyer just nods, already consuming the burger, not even appearing to notice how spicy it is. He annihilates it in seconds, and I pick at my fries as I grab the sticks of charcoal, trying to figure out exactly how this is going to work. I mean, there’s a big court right in front of me. It’s the biggest blank canvas I’ve ever seen.
“Don’t even think about fucking with my court,” Dalton mutters, watching me from across the massive green rectangle, reading me as effortlessly as though he’d been doing it for years.
Letting out a sigh, I glance up at him, needing to block the sun from my eyes. “Then where the hell am I going to draw? I don’t have a canvas.”
Cross glances at me with a strange curiosity in his eyes before pulling his shirt over his head. He turns his back and glances over his shoulder at me. “Will this do?”
“Your back?” I question, my greedy gaze shifting over the strong muscles beneath that beautiful, tanned skin, his back the perfect blank canvas. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to roam my hands all over it. “Are you sure? Charcoal isn’t known for being tidy. It’s messy as shit.”
He gives me a blank stare. “Will it do or not?”
“I mean . . . yeah,” I say, watching as he drops to the ground and sprawls across the court, offering his back for me to use as I please. Cross grabs his discarded shirt and shoves it under his head, getting comfortable for the long haul.
I don’t hesitate, scooching toward him and laying the charcoal out beside him. I glance over his back, trying to figure out what to do with it, before leaning over his ass and starting my outline.
Over the next few minutes, a face starts to form, covering his whole back as we fall into a comfortable silence, but I find myself all too curious about this beautiful stranger. “Cross?” I question, almost certain he’s going to fall asleep.