Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
But when my little sex fiend’s eyeballs nearly fall out of his head, his mouth dropping open like he can’t imagine how I would say something like that to him, I’m glad I let the words out. And the building pressure in my balls proves I mean them.
“Shut up.”
“Huh?”
“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better. I’m not sad. I’m angry. And frustrated that I’ve never really just let go and had fun. I want to experience all that life has to offer without it having to be something serious.”
Shit. So apparently this guy doesn’t see himself clearly, doesn’t see how intriguing or good-looking he is. I don’t know what he’s angry about, but his firm tone says he’s serious about this. “I’m not lying. You’re hot. And I hope that enjoying sex is also on your list of reasons.”
“I’m hopefully optimistic that my past experiences were more because of the other guys and not me.”
“Sounds like you’re choosing the wrong guys. You’re way too fun to be bad in the sack.”
He studies me again, something I’m realizing he does when I give him a compliment, like he’s searching for something or waiting for a punchline. Whoever this guy has dated must have done a number on him.
“I’ll tell you what…you can refill my water, and then I’m just going to sit here and finish my drink. If when I’m done you decide you want to go somewhere and hook up tonight, you let me know. I hate to say this, but it has to be soon. I can’t be out late. But if you’re not interested, no harm, no foul. You just let me walk out of this bar, and we never have to see each other again.”
Well, unless I see him next time we’re playing in Seattle, but I don’t mention that.
“Deal?” I ask.
“Deal,” he replies.
CHAPTER FOUR
Hayes
I can’t stop feeling that I’m getting punked. If I tell this guy yes, will someone jump out from behind some barstools, hoping to catch a member of the Jilted Exes’ Club in action? Will this end up online, and I’ll just be giving the world another reason to laugh at me?
I finish cleaning up behind the bar and look at the gigantic hottie. He’s tall and broad, with short, black hair that’s messier than I ever let mine get. He’s got blue eyes, dark scruff along his jaw, and I’m pretty sure if you look up mischievous smile, a photo of him will appear. And he might be pictured under muscular too. Seriously, how does someone have such a nice body? Does he spend every moment in the gym and never eat anything delicious like chocolate cake or pizza?
He notices me looking and gives me a grin and a wink, which really should be cheesier than it is. Why is it that hot guys can get away with nearly anything without looking dumb?
I don’t see any recognition in his eyes. It’s not as if I get spotted on the street daily and everyone knows who I am. The incident at LAX earlier, well, that was the first time that’s happened, so I can’t figure out what game this guy could be playing at other than taking advantage of an easy orgasm.
“Are you married?” I ask.
He blanches. “What? No. I’m not an asshole. I wouldn’t be hitting on you if I had a partner.”
“Not everyone is like that.”
“Well, I am. Being in a relationship is the absolute last thing I want. I’m just looking to have fun.”
It doesn’t escape my attention that just a couple of hours ago, I decided the same thing for myself. I’ve never had a time in my life where I just hooked up and had no-strings-attached sex. Sure, I’d slept with two guys before Malcolm, once with each, but that was after a couple of dates when I thought there might be a chance of a future with them.
Now I don’t want that chance at a future with anyone ever again, and here’s a walking sex god offering to make me come, and I’m not sprinting toward him like an Olympic track star?
Malcolm took advantage of me because he could, and while I don’t want to take advantage of my sex god, I do want to prove to myself that I can do this. That I’m not that guy who only has work or is waiting around for a man to sweep me off my feet. I don’t want to be swept, damn it. How many times did Malcolm hint that I was boring? That I didn’t take chances. That I needed him to spice up my life. I want to prove to myself that I can be the fucking spice.
I set the broom against the counter, and okay, I’m pretty sure I huff too, but the sex god doesn’t call me on it.