Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
I know she tries to play the tough-girl role, and really, she does it well. And she gets away with it because no one sees past it. Do they want to? Do they try? Fuck if I know. But the longer she’s around, the harder it’s getting to toe the line and play along.
“You’re a catch, and I’m … me? You got a part of that right, but probably not the part that you think.”
Fuck that guy.
Me: Did you hear that I have a houseguest?
Paige: Maybe. Kinda.
Me: What do you want to know?
Paige: Whatever you want to tell me. This is really random for you, so I’m not sure what to even ask you to share.
Me: It’s Ash’s friend, Sara.
Paige: SHE’S PRETTY, BANKS. And hilarious.
Me:
Paige: Is there something going on between you?
I type no and then backspace over it.
There isn’t anything between the two of us. We made it through burgers from Shade House and our ice cream without strangling one another. It was actually pretty calm, considering it was the two of us.
But saying no feels like a lie because when Sara looks at me—whether she’s telling me a story or giving me shit—there’s a twinkle in her eye that reminds me a whole hell of a lot like the feeling in my chest.
Bossy you sometimes turns me on. I’m not going to lie.
“But it’s you,” I whisper into the darkness. “It’s always just about sex.”
Me: I think I’m too sensitive.
Paige:
Me: I MEAN IT.
Paige: I’m sorry. Why do you think you’re too sensitive?
Me: Because I don’t just want to fuck someone for the hell of it. I mean, sometimes I do. Sometimes that’s the whole damn point. But … I don’t know what I’m even saying. Forget it.
It takes Paige forever to respond.
Paige: For all of your goofiness, you’re a great person, Banksy.
Me: That’s it? You took that long to answer me, and I get one sentence?
Paige:
Me: Is that a Jess-type joke about how I won’t stay away?
Paige:
Me: Double-edged sword is that Sara is asleep in my house and I’m lying here in my bed thinking about her when I know that if anything happens between us that, one, it’s just sex to her, two, I’m not sure it’s just sex for me because I’m over here thinking about this way too much, and three, it’ll end and then it’ll make things really weird for all of us. Maybe that’s like a triple-edged sword.
I roll onto my back and sigh.
Paige: Do you want advice?
Me: Only if it’s good advice and not advice I’ll hate.
Paige:
Me: That sounds like a weak answer. That’s some talk-show shit written to get good ratings.
Paige: You asked.
Me: I’m sorry I did.
Paige: Go to bed. Nate’s working for Landry Security tonight, and Ryder has a fever, so I’m lying on the couch with him. I’m going to try to get some sleep too.
Me: Tell the little rascal I hope he feels better. Love you, Paige.
Paige: Love you, Banksy.
“I gotta piss.”
I rip the blankets off and toss my phone on the bedside table. The floor is nice and cool against my bare feet. Yawning, I open the door.
Stretching overhead, I round the corner to the bathroom when a shriek makes me jump.
“Ah!” Sara slaps her hand to her chest. “You scared the shit out of me.”
Wow. You did not scare the shit out of me.
Her hair falls across her shoulders in thick, messy waves. There’s not a stitch of makeup on her face, and in the glow of the hallway night-light, she’s motherfucking gorgeous.
She tugs the end of her shirt, and I look down.
My cock gets hard immediately. It presses against the fabric of my boxer briefs, the head of it starting to peek above the waistband. I start to cover it, to turn toward my bedroom—but fuck it. This is my house.
And she’s wearing my shirt.
Her eyes widen, and her lips part as she stares at me.
“Did you forget to pack pajamas or what?” I smirk. “Because that looks a hell of a lot like my shirt.”
She pulls the end down again. “It’s a long story.”