Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“Who’s the date with?” His hand goes up to stop me. “Don’t tell me. Let me guess.” Duke rolls his eyes. “Brian.”
I laugh despite myself. “Of course it’s Brian.”
He snorts. “You couldn’t find yourself anyone better than him? Give me a break.”
“What’s wrong with Brian since you know so much about him?”
“For starters, he didn’t ask you out. He waited.” Duke pauses. “Did he ask you out properly, or did you ask him out? Be honest.”
I hang my head a little, then square up my shoulders. “I did. Because I’m a modern woman, and that’s what we do.”
There.
He laughs. “No, you asked him out because if you waited, your ovaries would dry up—that’s how long it would have taken him to make his move. Brian is a fuck boy. I don’t need to know anything else about him.”
“You know nothing about him!”
“I know enough.” He snorts again.
“You know, snorting is rude.” He’s doing it on purpose.
Duke shrugs, nonplussed. “I let my snortin’ do the dirty work.”
We study one another until he breaks eye contact, sitting up on my bed to survey his surroundings. He nods in approval as he looks around, eyes settling on my television console, the photos on my wall, and the orderly way I have my bookshelf arranged.
Climbing up the bed toward me, he tosses a few accent pillows to the floor and fluffs the others to make himself comfy.
“What are you doing?”
“You said we should stream a movie.” He finds the remote amongst my covers and points it toward the television.
“No, I said you should stream a movie tomorrow while I’m on my date.”
He ignores me. “What are you in the mood for?”
Ugh.
“Nothing.”
Everything.
The TV goes on, menu popping up. His finger works the cursor up, down, and sideways until he settles on the one show I haven’t watched but secretly wanted to watch.
“We are not watching Douche Boy Island.” I say the words even though I don’t mean them.
He glances over at me. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”
God, he smells good.
Looks so…good in my bed. No shirt, just boxers.
Young and cute and so hot.
I give up trying to resist. “All right. But you have to turn the lights off. It’s late, and I don’t want to be up all night.”
“Deal.”
When he rises, I watch his back muscles flex; thighs, too. Wide shoulders, amazing neck.
Ugh, the whole back side of him is a delight to watch.
Guilt assails me.
Duke is my roommate, not a piece of meat! I shouldn’t be ogling him. I am an educator who molds young minds, for Pete’s sake!
He’s back on my bed in a flash, flopping onto the covers, face at the end of the bed, feet near my face. Remote control in hand.
He flips.
Scans.
Goes up and down, then up again, consistently lingering on that same damn show: Douche Boy Island.
He casts a glance back at me.
I roll my eyes. “Fine. You’re the guest.”
He doesn’t move his gaze back to the television, only raising his brows at me. “Um, that’s a first.”
“Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself because this isn’t the Ritz, and I hadn’t heard of you before last week.”
“Wait.” He sits up now, interested, and sets the remote aside. “You’re tellin’ me you hadn’t heard of me before?”
“Why would I? I don’t watch sports.” I make meat and cheese trays for sporting events but watching them? No. You’ll find me in the kitchen, not in front of the TV.
“Don’t watch sports,” he repeats slowly, looking shaken. Disbelief clouds his entire face. “What do you do during Super Bowl season?”
I shrug. “Nothing. Decorate for Valentine’s Day?” And since we’re on the subject… “I have a tree that I put in the living room—it’s so cute. White. I had my students make a pink and red paper chain and big red cutout hearts, and each of them wrote me a cute little message…” My sentence trails off when I notice how bored he looks.
“It’s a year-round tree, but I didn’t put one up for summer.”
“Yeah,” he drawls. “I think I would have noticed a Christmas tree in your living room.”
“You would love one of my holiday trees,” I boast. “They’re magical.”
“Magical,” he deadpans. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”
Duke peels his eyes away from me and picks up the remote, finally clicking on Douche Boy Island, the preview beginning immediately.
I already know it’s going to be good.
“Ever thought about being on one of these shows?” I tease.
“No.” He snorts. “I have a real job.”
“If you consider throwing a ball around some grass as a real job.”
Duke hits pause. “I’m going to forgive you for sayin’ that since you’re not a fan and just tryin’ to push my buttons.”
Ha. I was actually just trying to push his buttons.
“It’s not hard.” Um. “To push your buttons.”
I clarify, fully aware he’s on my bed half clothed with bulging muscles and a dick that’s only concealed by those flimsy navy boxing shorts.