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)
I turn to hide my smile and attempt to sashay out of the room. That doesn’t work. My poor vagina took a beating last night. And I’m feeling it today. So I end up taking tentative steps that I hope aren’t too obvious.
But leave it to Cam to shit on my dreams.
“Someone slung the D last night….”
Asshole.
I’m not showering in the guest bedroom. After the morning I’ve had, I deserve a nice hot bubble bath in the aquarium-sized tub in the master suite. I probably shouldn’t have added all those bubbles and turned on the jets, though. Turns out that shit can get out of hand in a hurry.
By the way, when heroines claim they’re, “deliciously sore,” after a rough fuck with a hot hero, they’re lying.
There is nothing delicious about the way I feel today. It hurts. Everything hurts. My wallowed out narrow channel is battered. Thighs bruised. Clit raw. My limbs are achy and stiff. Nipples tender to touch. And my head feels like it might explode. Partly from alcohol, partly from the hair pulling.
Jake Swagger should have his ass beat for not checking on me, massaging me or offering me some numbing crème for my lady parts. The first thing he should’ve done this morning was ask me how I was feeling. Then tell me he was going to take care of me today. That’s what swoony That Guy would do.
But did Jake do that?
No.
Why?
Because he’s an asshole.
I have no clothes, so I slip into Jake’s closet and sift through his. I choose a gray dress shirt that hangs nearly to my knees. After rolling up the sleeves, I examine myself in the mirror and make a mental note to steal this before I leave. If I belted it at the waist, and paired it with some heels, it would be a super cute outfit.
“He’d be pissed if he knew you were in here.”
I meet Cam’s laughing eyes in the mirror and shrug.
“You like pushing his buttons, don’t you?”
“Prove to me he doesn’t deserve it and I’ll stop.” I spin to face him. He’s leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “What are you doing in here? I thought you were working.”
He lifts a shoulder. “He’s pissed at me. So I walked away before he could hurt my feelings.” His smile tells me he’s not the least bit worried about his feelings.
“Why is he mad at you?”
“Because of what I said about you and him,” he shoots me a wicked grin, “…fucking.”
Oh.
“I’m assuming he doesn’t kiss and tell?”
“Well, see that’s the thing that has me so confused, Penelope. He always kisses and tells. And that comment I made is one I’ve made plenty of times. This is the first time it’s pissed him off.”
I blanche. “You mean you’ve watched other women do the bow-legged walk of shame?”
He laughs. “No. That was a first. But the just-fucked hair and the hungover woman on the couch always means the same thing. Someone got the D.”
Cam just confirmed my worst fear. He did treat me like a Miss Sims last night. And that bottle holding my hurt feelings is just about full. But I make room. And focus on something that will make me angry instead of sad. Like the fact that Jake has ruined yet another fantasy about That Guy. If he’s the hero and I’m the heroine in this story, then he should’ve fucked me in a place he’s never fucked another woman.
It’s official.
Jake Swagger is not That Guy.
He is That Asshole.
“Always thinking.” Cam grins at me and pushes off the door. “I’m out of here. You need anything?”
“Nah. I’m good. But it’ll probably be the last time I see you, so should we hug? Also, I need your number to give to my best friend, Emily, because I need you to fall in love with her.”
He shakes his head at me. “You’re nuts. And you’ll be here when I get back. I’m sure of it.” I want to bombard him with questions. Ask him why he’s so damn sure that I’ll still be here. But he does that mysterious, sexy wink and leaves me on a cliffhanger.
Whatever. I’m glad he’s gone. I have shit to do anyway. Like find some food. Make a plan. And fuck up whatever Jake has going on in his office.
“…Everything else is negotiable, but I promise you we’ll stand firm…” Jake’s voice trails off as his eyes meet mine.
I’m standing in the doorway of his office. Holding a silver platter with a bunch of random shit I found in Jake’s kitchen in one hand. The other hand on my hip. Wearing nothing but his shirt and a smile.
That vein in Jake’s forehead makes its presence known as he shifts in his seat. Instead of sitting in his desk chair, he sits next to his client—a middle aged man dressed in a Stetson, cowboy boots, Wranglers and a blazer.