Total pages in book: 244
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
The car pulls over, and when Slade leaves with a blown kiss, it’s just TJ and me again. I steal a glance at my former roommate, who looks unfairly better than he did when he left me.
But also a little sadder.
Like me.
As the car pulls away from the curb, heading down Fifth Avenue, I defend my lips. My pride too. “That kiss was natural.”
“You heard Slade,” TJ says, too nonchalant for my taste. “You were overselling it. Maybe it would help if you thought of someone else. Just an idea.”
I want to tear my hair out. Doesn’t he get it? There’s no one else. “Like you were?”
“And why would it matter to you if I was?”
Because I want the truth from you. But hell if I’ll admit that. Instead, I call him on the lie as I lock eyes with my one-time lover. “You weren’t thinking of someone else. I hear the way your breath catches when I’m near you.”
“Is that so?” TJ tries to stay cool, but his voice hitches as I stare at his lips.
I push on, leaning closer, issuing an accusation. “Whenever I get near you, you shudder.”
“And what about you? What do you do?” TJ sounds as frustrated as I am. But also, as aroused.
“I do the fucking same, because I want to kiss you.” Holy hell, that was like ripping off a layer of my soul.
His brown eyes glimmer with outrageous hope, but then they darken like he’s shutting down that possibility. “Well, you didn’t show it.”
“Then I will now,” I say, my skin sizzling with lust. The temperature in the back seat is scorching.
“How?”
I bite the corner of my lips, knowing this drives him wild with desire.
TJ fights like hell to be stoic. But he hardly lasts. He lunges at me. Grabbing my face, he whispers against my lips, “Prove it, Jude Fox.”
“Gladly.” I crush my lips to his.
Oh, yes.
I kiss TJ the way I wanted to last night. With all the passion I’ve ever felt for him. With all the anger that courses through me now. With all the regret, the hurt, and the mistakes I’ve made.
I give it all to his mouth as I kiss him furiously. Our tongues tangle as we battle for dominance. He consumes my lips, and I devour his right back.
He licks into my mouth, and I suck on his tongue. Our hands grapple in each other’s hair, claw at each other’s clothes.
We are merciless. This kiss is beyond genuine. Neither one of us was performing last night. There’s nothing fake about our red-hot attraction.
I grab the back of his head, my hands curling through his hair. His palms slide down my chest, and he clutches at my shirt, jerking me closer.
As I show him that our kiss was natural, and as he demonstrates that he only thinks of me, we play a brand-new game.
Who can wind up his ex more?
I want to make him crazy, just like missing him for ten long months has driven me mad. I touch him that way, hard and ruthless as the limo weaves downtown, my mind races to clothes coming off, to bodies connecting.
I’m dying to invite him over. To get naked with him. To come together again.
The car lurches to an abrupt stop at a light. We jerk away from each other.
Like a predator, TJ stares silently at me. He wants to take me apart. His eyes shine with lust; his lips are swollen with need.
Then, he pulls back, smooths a hand down his shirt. “You’re right. That was convincing,” he says as if that’s why we kissed.
To make sure we can pull it off.
That proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that we can kiss. Hell, that kiss could be evidence in a trial.
“We shouldn’t have a problem at the theater,” I say, my chest still rising and falling.
He blows out a breath and turns to me like he wants to say something.
But he’s quiet.
I am too.
Finally, he points to the window and the street beyond. “I should go. Or else . . .”
Or else what?
But maybe I don’t want to know the answer. When he asks the driver to pull over, I say nothing but goodbye.
As I watch him walk away, I wish it were tomorrow so we could explore whether this kiss was just a fluke . . .
11
BEING CHEEKY
Jude
Man can’t survive on his opinion alone.
Fortunately, I have a woman to help me pick the right outfit. My bed is littered with the wrong ones.
I take off a pale-yellow linen button-up and toss it on the pile. “Supplies are rapidly dwindling, Liv,” I warn as the mountain of do-not-wear shirts grows taller.
She ignores my concern, flicking through the shirts still on hangers at lightning speed. “Not that one,” Olivia declares as she nixes a purple button-up.
“I like aubergine,” I protest.