Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Not quite the way I like to, but who am I to turn down a compliment from the prettiest woman in the room?”
“Only woman.”
“Statement stands.”
“Ohmygod,” she good-naturedly giggles to herself while shaking her head. “What am I gonna do with you?”
“Same thing I’m gonna do with you.”
Arley’s head tilts curiously to one side in a wordless request for more information.
“Keep you.”
Swooning sounds precede a secondary headshake. “Oh, my hormones so can. Not. Handle that this morning.” Her body pops off the wall she’s been resting on and resumes its trek to the kitchen. “Come on, Cowboy. Let’s see if I’ve got anything or if we’ll be makin’ a trip to the corner store.”
“We damn sure won’t be,” I correct as I follow behind her. “That’ll be a me job.”
“I can go to the store with you, Slater. My legs are a little sore, but they do still work.”
Against my own volition, I allow my eyes to drink in the view of them doing exactly that. Each step she takes towards our destination not only has her hips swaying but the Gym Class Heroes lyrics that cascade down the back of her thighs singing to me.
Serenading my shaft to swell to full attention.
To yank her to me and bend her over the couch she loves so much.
When I don’t immediately continue the argument, Arley whips her head over her shoulder, catching me doing the one thing I shouldn’t be caught doing.
No.
She’s my client.
My target.
My best friend.
The last thing I should be doing is imagining fucking her on every solid surface in this penthouse.
And I damn sure shouldn’t let myself get busted doing it.
“Standard Operating Procedure dictates that we leave you – the client – unmoved from your secure location for at least the first forty-eight hours, so no, Angel Cake.” Reclaiming my sense of duty is swiftly done. “You can’t go to the store with me.”
“And here I thought the P word was going to be my least favorite during this whole thing.”
I flash her a small smile that she greets with a gag before spinning back on her heels.
The task of checking her bag to no surprise is much worse than I was anticipating. Instead of squatting down to root around and search the object, she bends over. Right at the waist. Plump, perfect ass just unapologetically in my goddamn face.
I see.
I’ve accidentally invited a sexual terrorist into my home.
My cock is no longer safe – although it’s secure – at this location.
Diverting my attention elsewhere requires discipline that I haven’t had to exercise since the days I wore a maroon beret and had to put my advanced skydiving skills to their most optimal use.
It sounds insane – fuck – it feels insane that I’ve gotten through some of the toughest shit this world has to offer yet can barely manage not to lose my shit around a 5’5, brown skinned knockout that’s bent over next to my front door.
Maybe I need to re-enlist?
Look into a few refresher courses?
Because this is fucking embarrassing.
“Nope,” my best friend sings as she straightens herself back to a standing position. “Nada.”
“While I don’t mind goin’ to the store-”
“That means you have to put a t-shirt on.”
“I know.”
“And clean pants.”
“I know.”
“You’ve still got on your date jeans.”
“I. Know.”
Amusement swirls around her stare prompting me to chuckle in frustration.
See.
We really do know just about everything about each other.
“While I don’t mind runnin’ to the store, let me check across the hall with Aviva first. Maybe she has something that can get you through a couple days that way you can go to the store like you want.”
“Need.” I’m shot a small glare. “I need to go to the store, Slater. For products. For meds. And home. Home for clothes. And my good luck dragon pillow I sleep with through the season.”
“How could I forget how superstitious you are when it comes to hockey?”
“Blame it on the whole me being attacked thing.”
“And you being attacked is why you aren’t going to any of those places. At least not yet.”
“But-”
“And this wasn’t meant to turn into another discussion about protocols.” Crossing over to Arley precedes me gently ushering her away from the door. “Go wait on the couch for me, okay? I’ll be right back.”
She releases a theatrical gasp on a dramatic clutch of the chest. “You’re gonna let me out of your sight to do more than pee?”
“Don’t make me remove all the doors from their hinges so that’s no longer true.”
An incredulous glare is swiftly tossed in my direction. “You wouldn’t…”
“I have.”
Her jaw hitting the ground in shock is the last thing I see before exiting my place.
Look, I didn’t want to remove all the doors, but the kid had a nasty habit of playing an unapproved and unappreciated game of hide and fucking seek. Not being able to find the small person you literally just rescued in the expensive German boutique hotel her parents insisted she stay at while waiting for the exchange is not the type of stress anyone fucking needs.