Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“Are you sure?” I asked Brant.
He waved a hand. “Of course. You’re drenched. Go dry off and get some sleep. Knowing these guys, tomorrow is going to be a very long day and an even longer night.”
“Okay, thanks,” I told Brant. “See you in the morning.”
I retreated to my room, forcing myself at every step to keep my eyes forward and not look back. Once inside, I leaned against the door, letting out a strangled breath.
Tomorrow, things would be better, I told myself. I’d be well rested. I’d be prepared.
The shock of seeing Oscar so soon after talking to him was making me weak, obviously, and that was why my mind couldn’t stop replaying our one night together, conjuring the phantom feeling of his muscles beneath my fingers, the smell of his expensive cologne mingling with clean sweat, the sound of his smooth, deep voice in my ears. Tomorrow, I would—
I groaned. I was a terrible liar.
Tomorrow would not be better. I couldn’t make it through the entire weekend without wanting him when I could barely make it through an hour today. If I was in proximity to Oscar for any length of time, I’d probably throw myself at him like he was a punch bowl and I was a thirsty, thirsty man. I’d end up begging him for sex, and—
Wait. Wait. Hadn’t Oscar said he’d planned to hook up with someone this weekend? He’d manifested me an actual horse instead of a dating horse, but he’d been pretty clear about his own secondary goal at this wedding. So why not me? Why not make our one-night thing become a… a two-night thing?
I paced around the room, trying to think this through. The room air was stiff and still, unlike the fresh night air I’d left behind.
Ninety-seven percent of my brain knew my idea was one of the worst ideas in human history, right up there with the Titanic architect saying, “Pah! Who needs lifeboats?” But god, it was amazing what a person could talk themselves into when they wanted a thing as badly as I wanted Oscar Overton—
Sexually, of course.
Not… not romantically.
Because I still would not, could not, do that.
But I was capable of a no-strings hookup with him, wasn’t I? After all, I’d done it before.
When I completed a third full circuit of the small room, I collapsed against the door again and banged my head against it lightly. This mental back-and-forth was exhausting. I either needed to talk to him or go to bed.
After a moment of hesitation, I flung open the door, ready to march back out and offer myself up like a very willing human sacrifice, but when I saw a figure standing across from me in the darkness, I sucked in a breath in alarm.
The figure raised its head. Oscar.
He wore the same clothes as before, the fabric still damp and clinging to his chest and arms. His hair was in disarray, and shadows darkened his face.
He jerked back, his eyes going wide with something akin to surprise and panic. I was sure my expression mirrored his. My pulse kicked into overdrive, my lungs suddenly growing tight, making it difficult to breathe.
“H-hey. What are you doing here?”
I might have been embarrassed by my stammering, except that Oscar—Oscar who always seemed to know what he was doing—looked as nervous and uncertain as I felt.
He ducked his head, then raised his gaze to mine. “Trying to make myself walk away… Trying to figure out how to convince you to let me in.”
“Oh.” If I’d thought breathing had been difficult before, I’d been wrong. Because looking at those eyes, at that face, at this man I knew better than some of the men I’d dated for months, I knew all the mental gymnastics I’d done a moment ago to justify what I wanted were meaningless; there was no choice to be made. If Oscar wanted me, I was his.
“Just ask,” I whispered.
Heat flared in his expression, but he stayed where he was: just across the threshold, within reach but still somehow distant. “Nothing’s changed though. I’m never going to be your happy ever after…”
I knew that—knew it—but hearing the words still hurt more than it should have.
Without giving myself time to think about what that meant, I reached for Oscar, curling a finger into the vee of his shirt and dragging him inside. “I found the hottest guy at the wedding.”
He frowned. “What?”
“That’s what my friend Oscar told me to do. He said if I wanted to get over the asshole I’d been dating, I needed to find the hottest guy at the wedding…”
“Oh.” His expression cleared, and his lips twitched. “I assume you mean Roman? He might still be outside—”
I kicked the door closed with my foot and pushed Oscar back against it none too gently, covering his mouth with my hand.