Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 91079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Don’t be dramatic. We can’t afford those kind of pills. And I hear a Tylenol overdose is very painful.”
Her laughter is music. “You’re such a dick.”
She still doesn’t know I succeeded in my plan to avenge her broken heart. I decide to save that for when I get home. Maximum praise and all that.
“I gotta go. I’ll see you soon. Fuck Luke Duchanan.”
“Fuck Luke Duchanan.”
“Did you just say the name Luke Duchanan?”
I jump at Jake’s voice. Drop the phone. Fumble with it several seconds before finally placing it in the cradle.
“Huh? No. I don’t even know that name. What’s up?” I’m rambling. Because I’m lying. And I wouldn’t have to if he wasn’t eavesdropping, again. And I’d probably be able to breathe if he wasn’t standing in the door of his office, again. Arms braced on either sides and looking too fine, again. But I can’t even speak without stuttering because I’m turned on by the vision of him, again. Having thoughts about what riding his face might feel like…again.
He doesn’t believe me. But thankfully, he lets it go. “Come on. Alfred just brought Miss Sims’ wardrobe up. Let’s see if anything fits.” He turns and saunters away. I take a second to appreciate the view. Or a minute. Long enough for him to snap at me over his shoulder. “Penelope! Now!”
“Coming!” Almost literally.
I follow him to the guest room where there is a luggage cart overflowing with several garment bags, round and square boxes with fancy ribbons and an assortment of smaller bags stuffed with colorful tissue paper.
“All of this for one night?”
“She was staying the weekend.” When I shoot Jake a hopeful look, he shakes his head. “You’re not.”
Fun sucker….
He hands me another bottle of water. I guess he wants me to sober up. But the truth is, the excitement has done a pretty good job of sobering me. Actually, I could use another drink.
Jake rummages through the packages, tossing boxes and papers and bags to the floor as he flings garments on the bed. I grab a black, silk nightie and hold it against my chest. It fits me. Like, it’s my exact size. And even over a towel, it looks really good on me.
“Put this on. You have an appointment in an hour.” He throws a cream colored cashmere sweater and a pair of jeans at me. The nightie falls to the floor as I scramble to catch them.
“Appointment?”
“To prep you for tonight. You didn’t think I was going to let you go like that, did you?”
I look down at my towel dress and frown. “I guess not.”
“Didn’t think so. Get dressed. Ross is waiting in the lobby when you’re ready. He points to a blue bag hanging from the rack. “There are three different phone chargers in that bag. Charge your phone and stay out of my office.”
My phone!
Facebook!
Toy Blast!
“By the way, who the hell travels all the way from Mississippi with just the clothes on their back, a Passport, a maxed out credit card and a crumpled up dollar bill?”
“I have a debit card, too.”
“There’s less than fifty bucks in your account.”
“Well, it’s the end of the month. I get paid on the first…wait.” I cross my arms and glare at him. “How do you know all that stuff?”
“You’re staying at my house, Penelope.” He says it like that’s reason enough.
“But how do you know all of that?”
“I went through the pockets of the clothes you so kindly left scattered on my bathroom floor.” Oh my God… Did he see… He smiles. “Yeah. Saw those too. I wasn’t aware they made underwear with I’m your Huckleberry printed on the ass of them.”
I can’t do anything but stand here and blink.
“Like I said, you’re staying in my house. You have no secrets anymore. Now, get dressed. Ross is waiting.”
With that, he turns to leave and I’m left with the realization that he knows everything about me, and though I know plenty about my That Guy, I know absolutely nothing about Jake Swagger.
“Motherfucker! Yep. That’s it. I’m done.” I scoot up on the table and scissor my legs around the head of the woman who has been so intimately eyeing my vagina for the past twenty minutes. She also removed the first layer of skin from my crack to my clit—after she waxed every other hair on my body. She’s lucky she didn’t catch a foot to the face.
“We’re all done, anyway. Told you that last strip would be the worst.” She winks at me, this Alexandrea, like she finds this shit funny.
It’s not funny.
None of this is funny.
It sucks.
If beauty is this kind of pain, I’d rather be a hairy hippo.
From the time I walked into this upscale spa with its serene atmosphere and flute music, I’ve been anything but relaxed. The deep tissue massage nearly had me in tears. The facial burned like Hell’s fire. My fake nails are too long and I got a nasty look when I said so. And then they send me to get waxed. I thought it was just going to be my eyebrows. I was wrong.