Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73568 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73568 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
I’m not tired, though. If anything, I’m a little wired. I drop my bag onto the table and sit at the desk, pulling my laptop toward me. The screen flickers to life, and my document pops up—the rough outline of my latest project, Formula Fling. It’s still just a shell of a story at this point, a few chapters here and there, but tonight… tonight feels like inspiration.
I start typing, the words flowing easier than they have in days.
He led her onto the dance floor, the music pulsing around them, drowning out everything but the steady thrum of her heartbeat. She felt his hand at the small of her back, guiding her closer, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered something only she could hear.
I pause, glancing over my shoulder at Lex. He’d been a mess tonight, but I can’t help but wonder… if I were prettier or more appealing, would he have looked at me differently? Would he have asked me to dance instead of those other girls? I shake the thought away quickly, feeling ridiculous for even considering it. This is a job, not some fantasy romance.
Besides, there’s nothing remotely redeeming about Lex. He’s no romance hero.
I turn back to my computer. She looked up at him, her pulse quickening as his fingers traced slow, teasing patterns against her skin. His eyes met hers, and the playful smile on his lips sent a jolt of electricity through her body.
I keep writing, letting the scene unfold, imagining a version of tonight where the heroine—who is suspiciously starting to resemble me—gets the attention of the impossibly handsome race car driver. He doesn’t just see her as a journalist, or as someone plain and ordinary, or even someone who’s easy to be had, but as someone intriguing.
Someone worth pursuing.
“You’re different from the others,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “You’re not like them.”
It’s absurd, really. The idea that someone like Lex would say something like that to someone like me. But in this story—my story—anything’s possible.
I finish the scene with a critical eye. The heroine gets the guy, of course. He’s drawn to her because she’s different. Special. The kind of romance that only happens in books.
I save the document and then reach my arms overhead as I stifle a yawn. It’s late and the hotel room is quiet, save for Lex’s steady breathing. I glance at him one more time, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all.
A world-famous formula driver passed out on my couch, and here I am, writing a love story about someone just like him. If only my heroine knew what she was getting herself into.
With a final stretch, I collapse into bed. It sucks sleeping in my clothes but I’m not about to put on my pajamas with Lex in the room.
I wonder what he’ll think about me bringing him here.
I wonder if he’ll be any nicer.
Tomorrow’s going to be interesting, that’s for sure.
CHAPTER 4
Lex
I’ve got a banging head, the kind of headache that feels like it’s splitting my skull in two. I should be used to this feeling by now. God knows it happens often enough, and yes, I understand it’s my own doing. I groan, lifting a hand to rub my temples, eyes still shut as I lie there, trying to piece together where the hell I am.
I know I’m not in my own bed.
And… I know I’m on a settee.
My body aches in that way it always does after a night of drinking too much and making bad decisions. Except this time, something feels… off.
I open my eyes.
This isn’t my flat.
I sit up too fast and instantly regret it, the room spinning around me. I’m in a hotel room—narrow walls, a small bed with rumpled sheets and a desk. I see a shut door, presumably the bathroom, and hear the shower running.
I rub at my eyes, trying to make sense of it all. How the hell did I get here and where exactly is here?
Then slowly, it starts coming back to me. The nightclub. Ronan and I getting hammered. Ronan scrapping with those blokes—some cocky idiots who couldn’t handle the attention we always attract. Carlos pulling him away and reminding me to stay out of it as I was on thin ice with Spencer and Harley.
Flashes of recollection. More dancing. More side-eyes from those assholes.
The sound of Posey’s voice in the background, her arm around my waist to help me out of the club. Getting into a cab and then… nothing.
Posey.
I rub my head, piecing the puzzle together. I must be in her hotel room. I glance around, still dazed, possibly a little drunk, and look at my watch. It’s too bloody early as the sun’s barely up.
With a sigh, I stand and stretch, feeling the soreness in my muscles. My eyes search for medicine and I spot it on the drawers… a single brew coffee pot. Thank fuck.