Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Peyton’s brows go up. “No date?”
I laugh. “What, you think I have a list of chicks on speed dial ready and raring to go every weekend?”
“Whoa,” she says. “I was just asking. No need to get defensive. And for the record, you shouldn’t go out and drink alone.”
I usually don’t. But somehow, after spending the afternoon with these two disgusting lovebirds, the idea of going home to my cold, dark apartment holds no appeal.
And she’s right; I shouldn’t go out drinking alone.
That’s just taking loveless and lonely to the next level, and I’m not ready to visit that place in purgatory.
Yet.
Forget it.
So I paste on a smile like I always do. “Are you kidding me? I have the ladies lined up when I walk in the door; I won’t hurt for company.”
It’s a lie, one I always tell so they’ll get off my back and leave me alone about dating.
It’s Rome and Peyton’s favorite new pastime, besides public displays of affection and learning how to play racquetball together.
They should stick to chasing balls and leave my love life the hell alone.
“Don’t lie, Hunter; you talk a lot of shit, but we all know you’re full of crap.” Peyton is smug. “You’ll probably go home and watch a Lifetime movie.”
Close. It will probably be something on the CW.
“She’s kidding. We literally don’t give a shit what you do tonight.”
“Rome. Be nice.” She fixes her beautiful face on me and I squirm. I hate when she does this. “What you need to do is stop screwing around and—”
“Find myself a nice girl, I know. Blah, blah, blah. You’ve told me this a million times.”
Peyton doesn’t look affronted in the least. Rather, she looks knowing.
Always with the smirk.
“You know,” she begins slowly, scooting around the couch and making her way to the kitchen. It’s warmer than Rome’s old one—neutral tones and dark navy accents—with stainless steel appliances and tons of natural sunlight. “Rome’s sister is coming to town, maybe—”
“No,” Rome and I shout at the same time.
Rome’s girlfriend looks back and forth between us. “What did I say? You didn’t even let me finish my sentence—”
“The answer is no. It doesn’t matter what you were about to say.”
“I was just going to say she’s coming to town, and wouldn’t it be nice if they—”
“No.”
Peyton scrunches up her face in a way that’s become familiar. “What’s wrong with her?”
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing is wrong with Rome’s sister, and that’s the fucking problem.
Bailey Blackburn is the opposite of what’s wrong; she’s everything that’s right, and I shouldn’t go near her with a ten-foot pole.
I’m shocked Peyton would suggest it.
“The last time I saw Bay, she was on a feminist crusade with some college buddies, had sworn off men, hacked off half her hair, and wore purple lipstick.”
But.
I’ve seen her accidentally online and, well—Bailey Blackburn has fucking changed. A lot.
She’s sexy as hell. Delicate. Feminine.
Clever as shit.
Once or twice I’ve accidentally studied the photos she posted of herself in a swimsuit on a recent trip to Hawaii. I mean—the post popped up, and I had to fucking stare. It’s not like I went looking for the damn thing.
“Yeah, no. She’s a thorn in my side.”
Liar.
“Oh. Well, never mind then. We can find someone else to show her around the office.”
Come again? “What do you mean, show her around the office?”
Peyton avoids my question, a smile growing. “Rome didn’t mention it?”
“Mention what?”
My partner and best friend shrugs, and I want to smack him. “She’s moving home and needs a job.”
“And a place to live,” Peyton pipes in, getting a pan out of the cabinet and setting it on the stove with a clink.
“First we’ll worry about the job.” He shoots her a look, then focuses it on me. “I’m going to put her to work at the office, doing random things. Maybe even some field testing.”
Field testing.
That’s my department.
I refuse to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.
“When?”
“Sometime next week. She’s driving in from Colorado.”
“What was she doing in Colorado? What year is she?”
I thought she was in college.
“She’s been working for The Rockies doing sports marketing, but she’s been homesick, and I told her if she ever wanted to come back, she’d have a home here.”
“And she’s homesick,” I deadpan.
“Yup.”
“Wait. Is she even old enough to have a job?”
Rome looks at me like I’m a fucking idiot. “She’s twenty-six, dipshit.”
Oh.
Well.
“Parlay, dude—I didn’t know. I thought she was nineteen.”
“You’re such an idiot.” Rome laughs, unable to stop himself. Christ, it’s good to see him happy and smiling.
“Kids. When did they get so big?”
“Don’t let her catch you calling her that. She’s good at her job, highly respected.”
“Does the kitten have claws now?” I joke.
Rome frowns. “Don’t let her catch you calling her that, either. She’ll literally claw your eyes out.”
Noted.
I lean against the back of their new sectional, processing this information.