Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 128260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
He appeared thoughtful for a minute, turning back to the bar and taking a drink of his beer. Finally, he faced me again. “How did we make those two kids?”
I pulled my head back. “Uh, you might want to rethink your career choice if you don’t know—”
“What I mean is, what position did we make our two kids in? Doggy-style? Reverse cowgirl? The Garfield? Flying circus? Butterfly? Table lotus? Bended knee—”
“Stop!” I put my hand up and then dropped it just as quickly, giving myself a shake. “Okay, first of all, I have no idea what some of those are, nor do I want to know. But secondly, what does that have to do with anything?”
“Oh, believe me, you want to know. Why it matters is because someday when Princess is screaming at three in the morning with a loaded diaper, or Junior gets expelled from preschool for punching his classmate, I want to be able to think back to the moment that we created them, and I want to smile and remember why it was the best fuck of my life and why whatever shit—literal and figurative—I have to deal with later on is worth it.”
My mouth dropped open against my will. “You’re disgusting.”
“You’re the one who had my baby. Twice.”
“I did not, nor will I ever have your baby. That was my point.”
“So you’re just going to abandon Princess and Junior? Nice mom.”
I stood up, throwing a twenty-dollar bill on the bar. “Done. You enjoy your drink, Carson Stinger. I look forward to seeing you again, um, never.” And with that, I grabbed my purse, turned tail, and started walking away as Carson called out, “Also, babe, you play hot secretary for me when I get home at the end of the day, and I’ll have no need to do my real one.”
I raised my arm and flipped him off. His throaty chuckle followed me out the door.
_________
Carson
I heard the slap of her flip-flops fade away and took another swig of my beer. Uptight, little brat. Hot, uptight, little brat but a brat nonetheless. I knew her type. She could get all indignant, stick that haughty little chin in the air, tell me why she was better than me, and walk away, but I saw the way her body reacted. She wanted me. Most women did, if I was going to be honest. Everyone was given one gift or another—mine was a smile women creamed their panties over and a body to match. Why be humble about it? It’s not like I could take any credit—I just knew how to use my God-given assets. The girl though, Grace Hamilton—I’d seen it on her luggage tag—she’d never let herself indulge, not knowing what I did for a living anyway. But just the fact that her body responded should have been enough for me. So why didn’t that thought make me happy? It usually did. I folded my napkin in half and then folded it again. What was different here? I downed the last of my beer and frowned at the display of bottles behind the bar, trying to solve the riddle.
It had been the strangest thing. I’d been walking to the front desk to leave a message for my agent, who was flying in from LA the next morning, and I had crashed into someone, her blond head colliding into my chest, just under my chin, and I was able to smell her clean, flowery-scented hair, gathered up in one of those twists.
As she’d looked up at me, flustered and breathless, my own breath had caught in my throat at the beauty of the heart-shaped face gazing back. She had the biggest, blue eyes I had ever seen, a cute little nose, and the prettiest damn mouth—full, light pink lips with a pretty bow shape on top. So… sure, she was pretty, beautiful even. But I saw pretty girls all day long. Why did one glance at this one have me staring, trying to memorize her face like a lovesick schoolboy? I had no damn clue. We had both paused before moving back from each other, and I’d taken in her slim body in a fitted, black skirt and a silky, white blouse. I loved that look. Hot schoolteacher. I had looked into her face and I could see a slightly confused warmth shining from her crystal-clear eyes. In that gaze, I had almost forgotten who I was. Almost. And that never happened.
But then her eyes had moved down to that stupid name tag, and I saw the disappointment and judgment fill her expression. And so I had purposefully made her uncomfortable, and I had enjoyed the look of disgust and then anger that filled her pretty face. I had enjoyed the way she stomped away from me, shaking her sweet, little ass. I had just done it again in the bar for the same reason. It meant I had won, so why didn’t I feel like a winner? Why was I still sitting here actively thinking about it? About her? It was completely pissing me off. I should probably go and find some willing female to come back up to my room with me for an hour or two so I could distract myself from whatever that feeling was. Yeah, that sounded like a plan.