Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 94489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
I motion so-so.
"No. It's worse. Anti-game. You're obscenely handsome. Isn't he?" Opal asks.
"He is," I say.
"Right. Like a guy who plays an evil CEO in a movie," she says.
I laugh. "She knows you."
"She does," he says.
"And tall too." Opal looks at her shoes, trying to gauge their rise. In her heels, she's eye to eye with him. "Women love tall guys."
"It's a popular feature," I say.
"Which is weird, right? If you're five-four, what do you care if a guy is five-eight or six-two? Either way, he's towering over you," she says.
"I'm supposed to know?" Simon asks.
"Seriously, Simon. I'm concerned. It's been two hours. Two and a half. I'm late. You didn't notice and you're not having sex. Do you need some dating tips? The strawberries are cheesy. Especially with whipped cream." She bites her lip. "Don't tell me you offered her the coconut whipped cream."
"It's what we have," he says.
"It doesn't spray. Look." She goes to the fridge and pulls out a canister of whipped cream with coconuts on it. Then she takes a plate, puts it on the counter, tosses the top aside. "Look at this." She puts her finger on the dispenser and pushes down.
It hisses. Sputters. Spits a few drops.
"You bring this out with a woman, and she's going to make the connection." She motions in the general direction of Simon's crotch. "Think you don't have the right stuff."
"Semen with velocity is the right stuff?"
"Oh my god, Simon! Don't be gross."
"I'm being gross?" he asks.
"Yeah."
"You sound like Liam," he says.
She looks at the melting drops of whipped cream on the plate. "I do."
"Horrifying."
"More horrifying is I'm right. He's right. Two hours and no sex. You're tall and handsome and you're wearing a suit. What's your excuse?" She folds her arms.
"Maybe we aren't sex maniacs," he says.
"At least come up with a plausible explanation," she says.
I laugh.
She raises a brow look.
"Maybe we had sex," he says.
"Then why are you wearing your clothes from the opera?" she asks. "I thought you—"
"That's a surprise," he says.
"Then you didn't," she says.
"Why do you care?"
"Three years, Simon. I've been here three years. And you've never invited a woman to dinner."
"Vanessa's been at dinners," he says.
"With Harrison and Lee and Preston, sure. Sometimes, her parents are there too. But never alone."
He actually blushes. It's quick—he snaps right back into concerned brother mode—but it's there.
And it's incredibly fucking hot.
There are a million things swirling in my head.
But this is clear; I need to fuck him.
I need to touch him and feel him and have him feel me.
Opal looks to me like she can tell I'm thinking dirty thoughts. "Is the suit a problem? Are you like Liam? He grew up a spoiled rich boy so now he's into grimy stuff." Her nose scrunches. "Teasing Briar about taking her to a trashy strip club and renting a private room. Of course, with Liam, who knows who's giving whom a dance. Or if a professional is involved. For all I know, he is a professional. Do you think he goes in as a cop? A doctor? A firefighter?"
"How much coffee did you have?" Simon asks.
"A firefighter. That's a stupid question." She shakes her head obviously. "With the hose and everything… that's Liam."
"How much?" Simon asks again.
She ignores his question. "Is that it? The gin? Liam says it happens to everyone."
"How did that come up?" I ask.
"It's Liam," Simon says.
"So it happens to him?" I ask.
"No, 'not me, I know my limits.'" She rolls her eyes. "I think it causes him physical pain to go ten minutes without talking about his dick."
"How much coffee?" Simon asks.
"Is that a new rule?" she asks.
"It's a question," he says.
"How many drinks?" she counters.
"One at dinner. One at the theater. One now," he says.
"They had coconut milk macchiatos," she says. "And raw vegan cheesecake. Chocolate mocha."
"You're going to be up all night," he says.
"See. This—" she motions from his position at the kitchen island to me on the couch. "You're trying to warn her off from having sex while I'm here."
"I'm being polite," he says.
"So, what, if you ever meet someone you like enough to ask them to move in, you'll never have sex when I'm home? What if you have kids one day? Is that the end of your sex life?" she asks.
She has him there.
"Who cares how much coffee I drank? It's coffee, not bourbon. I didn't rob a bank or sleep with a rando. Get a new hobby. Like learning how to make it happen," she says.
I can't help but laugh.
Opal shakes her head sad. "Do you not like guys in suits?"
"Does Simon own other clothes?" I ask.
"Supposedly," she says. "But he only wears them on Saturdays. If he's not going into the office. Sometimes Sundays, but not if we're going to brunch. And we're always going to brunch."