Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 120189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Oh. At me.
He’s looking right at me.
Damn, his eyes can pierce like a spear. His hair, golden brown, is sharply combed, save for a chaotic tuft in the front. His chiseled face sports a bit of beard at the chin that tapers off like a razor’s edge down his strong jawline toward a set of smooth, shaven cheeks and high cheekbones.
Fuck, what a gorgeous face …
And his body. Wow. Even through the haze, I spot a button-up shirt beneath his sexy blazer that hugs a big, muscular chest. The sleeves of his jacket enwrap arms as thick as footballs, which immediately makes me think of him doing naked pushups for some reason. Even his legs are big and strong. The shape of his body is present through the thin material of his clothes, which hug his form exquisitely. I can only imagine what those slacks are doing to his ass. I kinda wish he’d turn around so I can know.
And all of that smoldering sexiness is looking right at me.
Then, quick as a storm rolling in, the aisle of nothing that existed between me and that man closes in, filling with dancing bodies and half-fucking couples on the floor.
My view of the sexiest man in the world is obliterated in the blink of an eye.
“Besides,” Elijah is going on, oblivious to any of this, “you do realize we’ll probably be gofers for a good portion of the summer. I hope you’re good at taking coffee orders.”
I lean one way and then the other, desperate to regain eye contact with the man. Too many people are in the way. “I’m sure we’ll be put to much better use than that,” I retort distractedly.
“Doubt it. How about that one?” he asks, gesturing.
“Straight.” I didn’t even look. “And I don’t doubt it. You and I were chosen for a reason.”
“Yeah. We’re local. We’re young. We’re gofers.”
“We’re smart,” I state, “and we’re qualified, and we’re driven. And we got recommendations from our professors.” I give him my full attention suddenly. “I mean, have you really considered what this’ll do for our fourth and final year at the university, Elijah? Working for Mr. Gage?”
“The Gagency,” he quips.
I elbow him hard. “Gage Communications. Don’t be caught dead calling it anything else, dude. You saw how strict that supervisor is. Rebekah. She’ll whip you in half. Two minutes.”
“If you think she’s strict, she’s got nothin’ on Mr. Gage himself. He’s a downright bossy control freak with an attitude. Or so I hear. Three minutes.”
“So you hear. Two minutes.”
“Two and a half actually, according to my iPhone. Gotta pee. Hold my seat.”
As Elijah gets up to go, I call after him, “Better not take longer than two and a half minutes!” But the words are lost to the storm of loud, hypnotic music and screaming chatter already washing over the room.
I push away my watered-down Coke and continue staring through the crowd, wondering if I’ll find that man again. When I finally manage to get a view of the table he was standing at, however, I find it sadly unoccupied.
I slouch, deflated. He left. Maybe he was actually staring at a girl near me before. Or he was lost in a thought and wasn’t even looking my way at all, staring off into space. Or some hotter guy or gal snatched him up while I sat over here discussing minutes.
I shouldn’t be discouraged. It’s not like I had an actual shot anyway. I’m not seriously considering Elijah’s advice of hooking up with someone here. What he doesn’t realize is that I’m not the casual-sex kind of guy.
In fact, I’ve never even had serious-sex before.
Like, at all.
That may seem a bit hard to believe, considering I’m twenty, have three years of college under my belt, and while my looks may not rival a six-foot-four beauty on the runway, I’m certainly not the least attractive guy in the room.
I crane my neck once more, searching the club for the man in the sexy suit. Again, my search is in vain.
I can’t even begin to think about what would happen if a man like that actually approached me, told me I was hot, and had his way with me. How would I react? Would I seriously tell him, “No thanks, Captain Dreamy. See, I have this big important finally-meet-my-boss thing Monday morning and totally need to keep a clear mind for it. You were going to fulfill my every fantasy? Oh, well, thanks, but no thanks. The only thing I fantasize about are studies on whether social media compromises the very fabric of our humanity.”
No. I wouldn’t tell him any of that. I’d likely not be able to say a damned thing as he took my body and pulled it up against his.
Oh, that’s a nice image. I chuckle to myself, my thighs pulling together as I feel blood rushing below. Let’s think of another.