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)
Because you’re so fucking hot and being vulnerable, being real. That’s the biggest turn-on of all.
My God, I want her.
My cock throbs, precum dotting the head. Heat radiates from my body. But as I look at Sara and see the little sexy smirk on her lips, I’m reminded of her declaration that she only wants sex.
And that’s fine. Except we’ll wake up in the morning, and we’ll just be fuck buddies. She’ll place me in a category with her fuckhead ex-boss.
And I’m not that guy.
My stomach tightens as I look at her pretty face.
I like her. I like the frustrating pain-in-my-ass.
“You know what the problem is?” I ask.
“What’s that?”
I lower my face to hers, every cell in my body screaming for attention.
She hiccups a breath, her eyes wild, and watches me get closer.
Kiss her.
Don’t kiss her.
Go for it.
Be smart, asshole. For once in your freaking life, be smart, Banks.
I pause inches away and give myself one last chance to change my mind.
“What’s the problem?” she whispers, her breath hot on my skin.
I smile. “I’m not your type.”
“What?”
“I’m not an asshole, Sara. And that’s a problem.”
She exhales harshly as I pull away and head for my room. I must put some distance between us before I regret it.
“What the fuck was that?” she shouts.
“It’s called self-restraint, and I hate it.” I slam the bedroom door.
She slams the bathroom door.
Wonder-fucking-ful.
13
Sara
I dance around the kitchen, surprisingly upbeat for nine in the morning. And after getting turned down by Banks.
“I’m not your type.”
What the hell did that mean?
I purposely waited until I heard his truck start and pull down the driveway before I ventured out of my room. The house was scented by a freshly showered Banks. It’s as if he used extra body wash and added a second squirt of cologne just so it would linger behind and torment me all day.
I made a cup of coffee, double-checked the creamer's expiration date in the fridge before committing to it, and then threw a load of laundry in the washer. Thank God I grabbed my detergent at Sabrina’s. Banks was out … if he ever had any to start with.
Last night has messed with me all morning. Why does he think he’s not my type?
He’s absolutely my type.
He admitted he’s attracted to me. I didn’t need him to say it out loud to know. His gaze melts my skin every time he looks at me. But I thought getting him to voice it would be the icebreaker we needed to get things going.
Because seeing him in those boxer briefs got me going.
I have never seen a man so unbelievably gifted in my entire life—and I’ve seen a lot of men. His shoulders, his waist, his thighs—his bulging cock. I really missed that purple vibrator last night.
“Why didn’t you want to be with me last night, Banks?” I say aloud, picking up a pillow shaped like candy corn and tossing it on the couch.
The odd thing about this situation is that I don’t feel embarrassed. I didn’t wake up scouring myself for some deficiency or flaw. It’s a relief. It’s even more confusing when I realize I almost feel prettier this morning.
It makes no sense at all.
“If someone’s a catch, they don’t have to say it. You don’t have to point out the obvious. Take me, for example. I don’t have to tell you to look at my abs—you just do. They’re great. It’s unnecessary to point it out.”
Banks doesn’t play games. He just speaks the truth. That’s so rare … and attractive.
Yet another reason I don’t need to like Banks Carmichael any more than I already do.
I venture into my bedroom, listening to the whirl of the washing machine as I go, and take the silver dress with a black tie around the midsection out of the closet. The closet where I found Banks’s shirt.
I grin.
“Okay,” I say, laying the dress on the bed. “Let’s figure out this gala attire and then the date issue.”
This color isn’t my favorite, and this dress isn’t in my top five things I love to wear either. But it was the first acceptable thing I found at Sabrina’s. I sort through my things to see which heels I grab when my phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Banks: Hey.
I grin and type out my response.
Me: Hey.
Banks: Did you sleep okay?
Me: Like a baby.
Laughing, because I did not sleep like a baby, I sit on the bed and await his response.
Banks: Good for you because I didn’t.
Me: Poor you.
Banks: Tasha is being mean today, and I don’t want to be here.
Me: She seemed nice to me.
Banks: Oh, she is. But she won’t leave me alone. She keeps giving me all this work, and I’m not feeling very work-y today.
Me:
Banks: I really don’t need your negativity right now.