Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Brantleigh’s smile didn’t dim. “That’s not true. We travel in the same circles. We know all the same people. I have a trust fund, you have a trust fund. You’re ambitious, I’m ambitious.” He laid a smooth, thin hand on my arm and leaned closer to whisper in my ear. “I like sucking cock, and I’m willing to bet you like having your —”
I pulled away with an uncomfortable laugh. “Ohhh, whoa whoa whoa. No, see, I have a trust fund, but I never use it. And I’m not interested in… that.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Blowjobs?”
“Not with you,” I said flatly, my patience dwindling rapidly. “I’m seeing someone.”
“That’s not a problem.” He closed the distance between us again and coasted a hand over my chest. “Keeping secrets makes things spicier, don’t you think?”
“No. I don’t.” I removed his hand from my person. “Hear the words I’m saying: I’m not interested.”
Brantleigh’s nostrils flared. “You’ll change your mind.” His smile turned into something more calculating.
Okay, so maybe some people were exactly as they appeared on the surface.
“I really won’t. Not ever,” I said firmly. “There are lots of other great guys in town, though. I’m sure one of them would be thrilled to take you up on your offer.”
I said a silent apology to the gay population of Honeybridge.
Brantleigh tilted his head to an Instagram-perfect angle. “Maybe you’re right,” he said slowly. “Since I’m stuck in this town for weeks, maybe I should get out and chat up some other men.”
I nodded. “That’s the spirit.”
“Maybe keeping secrets is overrated.” He tapped his lower lip thoughtfully. “So perhaps I’ll hit up the Tavern. Get to know the locals. That’s where those Honeycutts hang out, right?”
A flare of apprehension gripped me, and my eyes narrowed. If this guy hit on Castor or Alden, Flynn was going to need bail money.
If he hit on Flynn, I would.
“Don’t make trouble,” I warned.
“Please. I’m not a child, Jonathan.” Brantleigh curled his lip. “People always underestimate me. You. My father.” He rolled his eyes. “I promise you, I’m not as useless as you think.”
“I didn’t say you were useless,” I protested. Wait, had I?
“Later,” he called over his shoulder, flouncing toward the house.
“Yeesh,” I said under my breath as I watched him go. I stood in the bright sunshine for a long moment after he’d let himself in through the french doors, letting him get to wherever he was going so I wouldn’t run into him again.
I didn’t know Thatcher Pennington well—we’d barely spoken more than a few words here and there over the years—but I could not imagine dealing with Brantleigh long-term. I really hoped karma had something good in store for him.
Firecracker: Guess who’s gonna be pitching for Team Honeycutt today? You’re going down, baby.
I glanced down at my phone and smiled.
Me: Wait, are you talking about what’s gonna happen DURING the softball game? Or AFTER?
Firecracker: lol. You’re gonna have to wait and see, Frog.
Fuck, I thought as I tucked my phone back in my pocket. I really hoped karma had something good in store for me and Flynn, too.
But in the meantime, I had a softball game to win.
“Bases loaded,” Pop Honeycutt warned. “The Wellbridges are up by two, the Honeycutts have two outs and two strikes! Flynn Honeycutt is at bat, and the Honeycutts need a run, but Frog Wellbridge’s been awful stingy out there on the pitcher’s mound for Team Wellbridge. Everyone knows Firecracker’s got a temper and a half on him. Can he stay focused long enough to make the play?”
Flynn tapped his bat on the ground and shot his grandfather a glare at his color commentary.
Pop smiled complacently back at him.
From the pitcher’s mound, I laughed out loud.
“Just throw the damn ball, pitcher!” Flynn called. “I feel myself aging over here. FYI, this is not what they mean by a slow ball!”
From second base, Alden Honeycutt hooted.
“You’re not gonna score on me, Honeycutt,” I yelled, loud enough to carry. “Doesn’t matter how fast or slow I go.”
“I’ve already scored on you, Frog. Several times, in fact.” Flynn’s grin was a feral, gorgeous thing, entirely inappropriate for an occasion when I was wearing tight softball pants, damn it.
“Nuh-uh,” my teenage cousin Nadia yelled from the stands. “You only scored one run. The score’s 3-1, Flynn!”
Flynn’s grin widened as he shifted his stance beside the plate. He and I both knew he wasn’t talking about the game.
“I’m trying to decide how I wanna pitch it to you,” I called, pursing my lips. “Fast or slow? Faaaast? Or slooooow.”
Flynn huffed impatiently. He knew I wasn’t talking about the game either. “If you don’t decide real quick, I’m gonna come over there and pitch it to you. Hard.”
I bit my lip. “I might let you.”
“Pretty sure that’s not how innings work, though, is it?” Castor called from third base. “You can’t just—”