Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
“How long ago was it?” she asks finally.
“Several years now. About six years ago.”
The little laugh she lets out sounds uneasy. “While I was still in high school.”
I shrug, not sure why age bothers her. It’s not as if she’s still in high school, or even college. She’s a grown woman; that’s very apparent.
I’m not here to convince her to be in a relationship with us, but I don’t like the fact that she’s written off the possibility before we’ve barely gotten started. It’s been a long time since the four of us were interested in the same woman, and I believe it’s a rare occurrence that shouldn’t be wasted.
23
ROSE
When we leave the restaurant, Christian walks me back to my car, pressing me up against the side of it, brushing his lips to mine, the faint malty flavor of the beer he’d been drinking stirring a need within me. I don’t even like beer, but I like the taste of it on his mouth.
After kissing me far beyond the bounds of a standard goodnight kiss, I’m left lightheaded, that ache of need much larger than it had been a few minutes ago.
“Want to follow me back to my place?” he asks.
“What do you have in mind?” It’s a silly question, only intended to kill time as I decide if going home with him is a good idea.
He lifts a brow and gives me a look, acknowledging that it’s a question with an obvious answer. Meanwhile, my body makes my decision for me.
Back at his house, as he walks me to the door with his arm over my shoulder, I wonder if he’ll take me off to his bedroom alone, but once we’re inside, he leads me into the living room, where the other three men are watching TV.
“Want something to drink?” Christian asks.
“Water, please.” I take a seat in the middle of the couch, between Mace and Zipper, where I realize that Hutch had been the only one watching TV, because after greeting me, the two men next to me bow their heads over their sketchbooks.
Hutch clicks off the TV and turns his attention to me, his eyes appraising my dress, my face, and my hair. “How was your dinner?” he asks.
“It was delicious. Not quite as good as your cooking, though,” I add with a smile.
“Glad you liked it.” His eyes are soft and warm.
“What are you working on?” I lean in Mace’s direction first, since he seems the most open to being distracted.
He flips his sketchbook around to reveal a drawing of an angel ascending among puffy clouds. There’s a small photograph of a woman’s face clipped to his pad, and the angel’s face perfectly matches the likeness of the person in the photo.
“That’s beautiful,” I say, in complete awe of his talent.
“Thanks. My client lost his sister, and I’m working on concepts for him.”
“I’m sure he’ll love it. What a special way to honor his sister.”
He returns to the drawing, darkening some of the lines of the wings, passing over some of the others. There are lighter, sketchier lines beneath it all that have clearly evolved into the current image.
I watch for another minute before turning toward Zipper. His pad of paper is angled in a way that prevents me from seeing his work surface, but as I watch him, he shifts, turning it toward me, making my cheeks go red. “Nothing quite so sentimental here,” he says.
It’s a pinup girl with perky breasts, her nipples visible through her skin-tight dress. Her shapely legs, capped by thick-heeled dark pumps, are crossed in a demure pose. Her eyes and her lips, though slightly exaggerated, look very familiar.
His gaze darts to my eyes and lips, as if he’s checking his work.
“Is this … for a client?” I can’t decide if I’m angry or flattered. I’m definitely flustered.
“Nope. It’s for my personal collection.” He resumes his work, but his eyes keep flickering to my face as he refines the lines on the drawing of the pinup girl. He softly shades in her cheeks, and I know they’re meant to match my blushing ones.
Christian returns, handing me a glass of water, which thankfully includes plenty of ice. I want to press it to my face to cool down, but instead I just take a long drink.
“Are you thinking of getting a tattoo?” Christian asks, as I watch the two men on either side of me work on their drawings.
“We could do a nice one for you,” Mace adds.
This discussion is no help for my heated skin. “Is that why you’ve been asking me out?” I joke. “Is it an elaborate plan to get me to become a customer, so you can mark my virgin skin?”
Zipper shoots me a heated look of his own. “You figured us out.”
“If you were to get a tattoo,” Mace says, “which one of us would you have do it?”