Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
“My name is Ryann.”
I notice Ryann doesn’t ask them what their names are, merely smiling politely at my side.
Ignores them to say, “Babe, should we go watch a movie upstairs?”
Babe?
Drake’s eyes widen again.
“Uh…sure.”
I grab a bag of chips from the top of the fridge to occupy myself once we disappear upstairs before nabbing two water bottles, too.
I follow behind Ryann like a puppy when she makes for the second story, hand trailing along the banister. I watch it glide along the smooth wood all the way up the damn stairs.
Her ass—which is eye level the entire way—sashays in my face.
This is her idea of practicing so this bullshit is believable?
Shoot me now.
fourteen
ryann
“I’m single because I’m overqualified.”
– Ryann Winters
“What the hell was that all about?”
“What was what all about?” I play dumb, knowing exactly what he’s talking about, but I refuse to give in to him that easy.
“The touching. The rubbing.” Dallas levels me with a glare. “You sniffed my neck.”
I shrug, plopping down on his bed. “So? You sniffed my hair.”
His mouth opens and closes. “You’re just going to lie there like that?”
“Lie here like what?” I fan my arms out and spread my legs so I look like I’m making a snow angel in the center of his bed. “Like this?”
Dallas stands over me, gawking like a guppy.
I delight in this new discovery—that big, tough Dallas Colter has no idea what to do with me. Not outside, not in the kitchen, not while I’m in his bedroom. The man-child who pretends to be confident and in control is floundering, and Lord help me, I’m loving every second of it.
My arms and legs flap.
“Knock it off, you’re makin’ a mess of my bed.”
Dallas takes a seat at his desk while I take up the space on his bed, leaning toward the nightstand so I can grab the remote control for the television mounted on the wall, pointing it at the screen and hitting POWER.
He tears open his bag of chips.
“What do you suppose they’re doing down there?” I muse out loud.
“Nothin’.” He pauses. “Eatin’ and drinkin’.”
“Flirting.” I crawl across the bed and stick my hand into the bag in his hands without an invitation, grabbing a handful and popping one into my mouth. “Also, those girls are definitely wondering what’s going on in here.”
They were shocked to see me standing in that kitchen, that’s for sure.
Probably online, hunting down all my social media. Stalking me, looking for clues.
“Well, the good news is,” I say after lots of crunching, “they definitely fell for our little act.”
We won’t talk about the thoughts going through my head when I pressed my body against his to smell him, put my nose against the throbbing vein in his neck to see how he’d react…we won’t.
No, sir, we will not.
And I won’t be mentioning it to Winnie, either. She would die.
Plus, Dallas asked me not to.
“You can’t be doing shit like that,” he announces, spinning his chair in my direction, legs spread wide as he leans forward and props his elbows on his knees.
I try not to look directly at his crotch.
“Doing shit like what? Smelling you?”
“Yes.”
I nod slowly, trying to wipe the satisfied smile off my face. “Got it. I won’t smell you and you won’t smell me.” I pause. “Smelling leads to no good.”
That gets his attention. “How does smellin’ lead to no good?”
“Smelling and massages almost always lead to sex, so it’s a good idea to steer clear.”
“If that ain’t the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
My arms are folded behind my head as I settle in to watch a reality dating show. “Don’t believe me?”
“I don’t.”
“Suit yourself.”
Dallas only sits there for a few moments before he pulls his phone out of his pocket and begins tapping away at the screen.
“You better not be Googling it,” I warn. “We’ve already established that you don’t believe me.”
“I don’t. But now I have to prove you’re wrong.”
“That won’t be difficult.” I laugh. “I made it up.”
Dumbass.
Dallas tosses his phone onto the bed, and it lands next to me with a thump.
“Why are you like this?” he wants to know, frustrated and digging into the chips.
“I’m trying to help you, remember? Someone has to bring you down to earth.” Then, because I simply cannot help myself, I add, “I feel like your little sister.”
“My little…” His words trail off. “Sister.”
“Yeah.” I yawn, oblivious. “Don’t you feel like my older brother?”
I know he doesn’t. I felt his entire body go still when I pressed my boobs into his chest down in the kitchen. I felt his body twitch as I sniffed him, felt him shiver when I ran my hand over his waist and rested it on his ribs.
I wasn’t born yesterday.
Which is why it’s so much darn fun to tease him.
Nothing to lose, nothing to gain.
I don’t know what I was expecting Dallas to say, but it wasn’t the short, clipped “No, I don’t feel like your goddamn brother,” he mutters through clenched teeth.