Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
It wasn’t a complete lie. I needed to get to my bed. I wanted a few minutes alone while I sat on it and studied the Valentine’s Day card.
It was a touching tribute to the friendship that I shared with Jameson when we were kids. We’d often exchange notes and silly jokes written on pads of paper that Jameson’s mom bought for us.
His pad had a J on the top of each paper. Mine was embossed with an S in pink font.
I kept every note that Jameson wrote to me. I haven’t looked at them in years, but I know they’re in a box at my apartment.
That’s where I plan on putting this Valentine’s Day card too.
It’s a reminder of the most important friendship I’ve ever had.
A knock at the guestroom door sends Dudley into full-on guard dog mode. He jumps to all fours and barks three times, warning whoever is on the other side of the door that a small, furry creature is waiting for them.
“Sin!” Jameson calls out. “Are you awake?”
I tug the lightweight blanket tighter around me. After Jameson opened the door to let Duds into my room the other night, I swore I’d start sleeping in panties and a tank top, but I tried that. It lasted ten minutes before I tore the clothing off and tossed it on the floor.
I’ve slept in the nude since I moved out of my parents’ home. It’s comfortable, so I’m sticking to it.
“I’m awake,” I say. “What is it?”
“Can I come in?”
“No!” I blurt out. “Stay out!”
Dudley adds his warning with another round of light barking.
“Fine.” I can hear the exasperation in Jameson’s voice. “I found your bra in my bed.”
Startled by that, I scramble to grab my robe. I wrap it around me, giving the end of the sash an extra hard tug to make double sure the knot is secured.
I swing open the door to find Jameson in a gray suit. The light blue shirt underneath is unbuttoned. His pants are undone. “You can’t go to work like that.”
He glances down at his bare chest and stomach before he shoots me a look. “I’m in the middle of getting dressed.”
I point a finger at his face. “Finish.”
His hands drift down the shirt. He begins buttoning it, leaving the top two undone. “What were you doing in my bed, Sin?”
“What? I haven’t been in your bed.” I try to laugh it off, but instead of a light chuckle, the sound that escapes me sounds like a screech mixed with a scream.
He smiles. “I’ll take that to mean you were indeed in my bed.”
I shake my head. “No! It’s a no!”
His gaze scans my face. “Why was your bra in my bed?”
I shoot him a look meant to convey how utterly confused I am. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I haven’t even set foot in your bedroom.”
He smirks. “Your bra did.”
“You’re talking nonsense,” I toss one of my classic lines at him.
He shakes his head. “I speak the truth. There is a red lace bra in my bed.”
I tap my bare foot on the floor. “Maybe that red lace bra belongs to a woman you brought home.”
“Yeah, no.” He shakes his head. “I haven’t brought any women here, Sinclair, and I won’t. The bra must belong to you.”
Frustrated by how ridiculous this conversation is, I glance over my shoulder. “My red bra is in here, so you are obviously suffering from a memory lapse. You must have forgotten that you fucked someone, and she left her red bra behind.”
His arms cross his chest. “Do I strike you as a guy who forgets the women he fucks?”
I mimic his stance. “Actually, you do.”
He huffs out a humorless laugh. “You’ve got me all wrong. I remember everything about every woman I’ve ever slept with.”
That makes my skin crawl, but I’m waist deep in this argument now, so I won’t back down. “What’s the name of the last woman you slept with?”
He scratches the side of his nose. “Melissa. It was in New Mexico about two weeks before I left to come home.”
“So she’s your girlfriend?”
“No,” he answers quickly. “We met at a bar, and we fucked. It was for fun. I’ll never see her again.”
I drop my gaze to the floor. I feel both envy and relief at that.
“Name the last guy you slept with.”
My head pops up. “What? Why? We aren’t talking about some boxer briefs being left in my bed. We’re talking about the bra in yours, and clearly, Melissa was not your last lover.”
“Clearly,” he enunciates both syllables. “She was because my dick has been in my pants since I landed in Manhattan. The bra is yours, Sinclair. Own up to it.”
I turn on my heel and march toward where I left my red lace bra.