Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 140767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 469(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 469(@300wpm)
“I have a few showings after this one.”
“No problem. Just let me know when you’re done, Ri. No rush. No big deal. Izzy and I will be fine.”
She nods and then, finally, hesitantly, leans forward to press her lips to mine. “Thank you. I’ll call you as soon as I’m done. Oh! And let me know if Winnie had any trouble with Izzy last night.”
“You got it.” I smile at Maria, holding open the front door as she rushes away, and watch her as she goes.
It’s not a bad view. Her ass is perfect, and her hair shines even in the dim hallway light.
But I’m starting to realize the view that is her coming toward me is a fuck of a lot better.
Remy
The air is warm and inviting this morning as I make my way from the subway station to my sister’s brownstone two blocks away. I can feel the flicker of the sun’s rays filtering through the still leafy trees along the sidewalk, and I turn my face up into them at every opening I get. The leaves are turning now and will be dropping soon, but for just a sliver of a moment, New York is blended with the perfect mix of summer and fall.
“Just can’t get enough,” I mumble to myself, swaying side to side to the Depeche Mode song playing in my ears.
I’m a walking cliché of bouncy steps and singing to myself, and I’m not even ashamed of it. Last night with Maria was incredible.
It was familiar and reminiscent of our days together as teenagers, but so far exceeding anything we even dreamed of back then that I’m not even sure I knew it existed.
When I round the corner on my sister’s block to the sight of Wes closing the front door behind himself and bleeping the locks on his car at the curb, I pull my earbuds from my ears and call out loudly.
“Yo, Lancaster!”
His head jerks up at the sound of my voice, and then his gaze finds its way to the source. I smile hugely, and he does the same in return, his hand going to his chest and crisscrossing over it. “What have you got there, cowboy? An empty baby carrier?”
I shrug. “Can’t put the baby in it until I pick her up from your wife, and wearing it is better than carrying it.”
He chuckles with a shake of his head as I come to a stop directly in front of him.
“What are you still doing home, dude?” I ask. “Isn’t this the busy season in your line of work? I thought the Mavs had a home game tomorrow.”
“They do. But Nick came to pick Lex up for the weekend, and I wanted to have breakfast with her before she went.”
Despite my suspicions over this rich fucker at the beginning of my sister’s relationship with him, I’m happy to have him around. He’s been a good husband to Win and an even better dad to Lexi, even if I did think he was a prick with ulterior motives in the early days.
I still don’t completely trust that shitbrick Nick Raines, but that’s probably because I dried too many tears my sister cried over him when he left her and Lex to fend for themselves.
For all intents and purposes, since he moved back to New York and shacked up with my ex-fiancée, he’s been nothing but a doting father. The fuckface.
“I have to tell you, when Thatch first started texting me a whole bunch of bullshit about you taking over for Zach Galifianakis in The Hangover 4, I thought he’d accidentally gotten into Cassie’s pot stash or something. But yesterday’s dinner, and now, this look…” He lifts his eyebrows with a chuckle. “I’m seeing it.”
“Thatch has been texting you about me?”
“You and Izzy.” Wes laughs. “And yes, he’s been texting me and pretty much everyone else in Manhattan, I’m sure. You can’t tell me that after all these years of knowing him, you’d expect anything else after you showed up at his office with a baby strapped to your boobs.”
My sigh is exasperated amusement. “Great.”
“Look at it this way, dude, he’s officially enrolled you in his contest for DILF of the Year. Last I heard, you were a contender, too. Though, don’t get your hopes up. He names himself the winner every fucking year.”
“What? You’re full of shit,” I snap, and Wes laughs again, turning to open his door and toss his briefcase in the passenger seat of his sporty little BMW two-seater.
“Dude, do you even know Thatch at all? How is any of this a surprise?”
I shake my head. “I guess I’ve just never been the one in his sights before.”
Wes reaches out and claps me on the shoulder with a wink. “Welcome to the fold, brother.”
I give him a salute and a wave as he rounds the trunk to the driver’s side and climbs inside, firing up the engine.