Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 103008 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103008 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Gotta say, crying into buckets of money, while good in theory, doesn’t make shit better. It doesn’t make it less lonely.
More first-world problems in the life of Harley Valentine.
“When do you think we should do it?” I ask her.
“I don’t know. Maybe after the publicity for 4Evah dies down a little?”
I nod. “That’ll give us some time to work out all the logistics.”
“Goodnight.” Evah kisses me on the cheek.
“Night.”
As soon as she leaves my room and I’m alone again, the large, empty space of the master bedroom feels too big. Too empty.
Soon enough, Evah will find her own place and move out, and even though I should be excited at the prospect, possibly even toy with the media by being seen with men instead of her, I know not much will change.
She’ll move on, but I’ll still be where I have been for the past decade—working toward a goal I’m beginning to think is unachievable.
No matter how successful I get, I’ll always want more.
Because hiding behind a career is easier than going for what I want.
And what I want is to be loved.
Truly loved.
Brix walks into the living room, his long, thick legs exposed in tiny shorts, his muscular arms glistening with sweat, while his black tank top shows off every impressive line and curve of his wide chest. I bet his skin tastes salty and sweet.
Dog, wrong tree.
I shake those kinds of thoughts free.
He’s been downstairs in the basement gym working out, and I’ve been trying not to imagine what that looks like while I write … nothing.
I’ve still got nothing.
When I finally admitted to myself that I want to be truly loved, my dick replaced the word “loved” with “fucked” and now my little crush … no, my lust, for my bodyguard has tripled.
That’s all it is. Lust.
After a straight guy.
That has done nothing for my inspiration even though it should be giving me angsty unrequited-love lyrics.
Fantasizing about Brix being all sweaty in the gym is even sadder than when I was pining after my ex-boyfriend while he was in love with someone else.
“How’s the writing going?” Brix runs a towel over his wet head.
“Torturous.” Only, I’m not talking about the writing.
“Want to take the day off? You haven’t left the house since Evah’s thing.”
“That was, like, only a few days ago.”
“Ten. It’s been ten days.”
I groan and lie back on the carpet. “I don’t want to go out.”
“Okay, diva, calm down. We don’t have to go out, but you do need some vitamin D.”
My gaze flies to his, and my mouth drops open. Then I realize he means actual vitamin D and not a euphemism for his dick.
“You have an amazing pool fifty feet away. We should go swimming.”
Swimming.
Together.
I run my gaze over his muscles again and eye his black tank top. He wouldn’t be wearing that in the pool. He’d be completely shirtless.
Bad Harley.
“I’d rather not,” I croak.
“Let me rephrase. We are going swimming. If you don’t get your trunks on, I’ll throw you in wearing all your clothes.”
“Isn’t that considered assault nowadays? What if I have my phone in my pocket?”
“I’m giving you fair warning, so I’d get rid of it if I were you.”
If Brix doesn’t already suspect I’m gay, it’ll be impossible to hide if he picks me up and throws me in the pool.
And as he steps toward me, I jump up and run toward the stairs leading to my bedroom.
“Fine. I’ll go swimming.”
I usually wear board shorts with nothing underneath when I swim, but that’s not going to hide the inevitable hard-on I’ll get watching my insanely ripped bodyguard all wet and half-naked.
I find a pair of Speedos and slip them on first and then my boardshorts over top. Yeah, this isn’t going to help. I cup my package through the material.
Why does he have to be so hot?
All the way downstairs, I try to steel myself to get through this, like I’m preparing for days of mental torture. Because I am.
I can already imagine what Brix looks like with next to no clothes on. I don’t need to see the real thing.
I realize that as soon as I reach outside and sink my feet into the grass in the backyard that no amount of preparing myself will be affective.
Brix is doing laps, his long arms powerful and strong. The muscles in his back contract with every stroke, and he pushes through the water as fast as a damn torpedo.
And I’m already hard.
Yep, that took zero point three seconds.
Brix hits the wall and grabs onto the side of the pool, lifting himself up to sit on the edge. His body shoots out of the water as if in slow motion. Or maybe that’s my brain slowing it down so I can watch all the water rivulets drip down his skin.
Well, that filled my spank bank reserves for the next decade.