Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
She giggles and nudges me with her shoulder. I nudge her back. She nudges me again.
“Juliet, don’t push your luck, or you will find yourself being fucked in the foyer of this hotel.”
She giggles. “You wish.”
I do, actually.
I clear my throat, annoyed by my body’s reaction to her. “A date is a date, and all date entitlements should be made readily available.”
“What?” She laughs. “So you think because we are on a fake date that we could actually have sex tonight?”
“Who knows.”
“Hen . . .” She goes up onto her toes and kisses me softly. My hands instinctively snap around her waist. “I’m looking for something more regular.”
“With him?”
“No, not with him.”
“Then with who?”
“Someone I have chemistry with.”
I stare at her, choosing my next words wisely. The elevator doors open, thankfully cutting me off.
Hand in hand, we walk out through the foyer and head down the street. She chats away while my mind is running a million miles per minute.
This feels off.
I’m not on my game. Something is seriously wrong with this picture.
No.
Abort mission.
There’s to be no sex with Juliet Drinkwater under any circumstance. Take it off the table, right now.
She’s my next-door neighbor, for fuck’s sake.
The only thing that’s sure to come out of this is a neighborhood disturbance.
We walk past a storefront window display; it’s a tower of fresh flowers, and she stops to look at it. “Hen, look how beautiful.” She slides her arm in under my coat jacket and puts it around me. She pulls me close as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
The disturbing thing is, it feels like it is.
Juliet
I feel Henley straighten beneath my arm and pull away from me. I glance up at him in question. “What?”
“What, what?” he replies curtly.
“Why did you just do that?”
“Do what?” He stares straight ahead at the window display, seemingly annoyed.
“Never mind.”
“Did you still want to grab a drink before we go?” I ask.
“If you want.”
“Where shall we go?”
He looks down the street. “There’s a bar over there.”
“Looks good.”
We make our way over to the bar and take a seat at the bench table by the window. It’s eclectic and moody, with a huge bar in the middle.
“Would you like a drink?” he asks.
“Yes, please.”
He raises an impatient eyebrow. “Such as?”
Gone is the playful and touchy man that was just here. Mr. Mercurial is now in his place.
“A margarita, please.”
Moments later he returns with two drinks, a margarita for me and an amber fluid for him. “Oh, what’s that?” I ask as he sits down at the table.
“Scotch.”
“Hmm, didn’t imagine that you’d be a scotch drinker.”
Amusement flashes across his face. “What did you think I would drink?”
I twist my lips as I think. “The blood of small children.”
He chuckles. “Tempting.”
“Actually, as far as alcohol goes, I would guess Jägerbombs.”
“And why is that?”
“You explode.”
“When have I ever exploded?”
“When my dog barks or makes a mess.”
“Ah yes, Barry the mutt.” He smirks.
I smile and take a sip of my margarita. “Oh, this is good, and don’t say it like that.”
“Say what?”
“Mutt.”
“Why not.”
“It sounds hot.” I smile. “Does things to me. Gives me tingles.”
“Mutt,” he mouths.
I smile goofily. “You should put that on your Tinder profile.”
“What?” he scoffs.
“‘I sound hot when I say the word mutt.’” I widen my eyes, and he chuckles.
I feel a little of our chemistry return.
“Actually, that’s a good idea,” I tell him.
“What’s a good idea?” he asks.
“You can help me write my friends-with-benefits Tinder profile.”
“No.” He screws up his face in disgust.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard of, that’s why. You’ll have every weirdo sex maniac on the planet applying.”
“One can hope.” I smile into my drink.
He rolls his eyes. “It’s not going to work, you know.”
“What’s not going to work?”
“You won’t be able to do it. You’re going to fall in love.”
Would that be so terrible?
“No, I won’t,” I lie.
“I know how women like you are wired, Juliet.”
“Oh please.” I roll my eyes. “Do you now?” I sip my drink. “For the record, I have had a friends-with-benefits situation before, and it was perfect.”
“When?”
“In college.”
“With whom?”
“My roommate.”
He stares at me as if completely perplexed . . . or maybe it’s because he can sense that I’m lying through my teeth. Well, I’m not really lying. I did have a booty call with my roommate a few times in college, but then he got creepy and I panicked and moved out . . . so yeah, kind of friends-with-benefits-turns-into-serial-killer thingy.
“How long did you see him for?” he asks.
“A few months.”
“How did it end?”
“We mutually decided that we didn’t want to do it anymore.”
“I don’t believe that for a second—no man would give up sleeping with you.”
“Maybe I’m shitty in bed.”
Shut up. Aren’t you supposed to be selling the dream to him, you fool?
“Quite the opposite.” His eyes hold mine, and the air swirls between us.