The Stand-In – Streamy Shorts Read Online Lena Little

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Insta-Love, Novella Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 14285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 71(@200wpm)___ 57(@250wpm)___ 48(@300wpm)
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I raise my own glass to her, holding her gaze as I sip my drink. “Hello, Heather Cain. You’re charming as usual.”

Her beautiful face splits into a smile so fake, I can’t help but chuckle. “Welp. That’s my cue to go home. It feels suffocating in here, like something’s here that doesn’t belong. Something that stinks. Something disgusting.”

“You noticed just now? I’ve been sitting behind you for the better part of an hour.”

Heather snaps her finger, her eyes widening comically. “So it was you! I knew something didn’t smell right. I’m surprised your ego fits through the door.”

“I always fit in places that look tight at first glance.”

“Tiny things always do.”

God, she’s perfect. She can fight fire with fire. That mouth she likes to paint crimson red? I wonder what I need to do to her to keep that shut. Maybe fill her with my ‘tiny thing’?

I tilt my head, acquiescing to her. “I can help you, you know.”

Heather slides from her stool and grabs her phone and purse. “Nah, I’m not into tiny things.”

That image is so absurdly hilarious that my cheeks hurt from trying not to laugh. “I can stand in for your fake boyfriend.”

Heather’s smile falters, and she stops in front of my table, resting both hands on it. “What did you say?”

“I told you I’ve been here for an hour already. I heard your conversation with Andrea. Besides, you weren’t exactly being quiet.”

The shock quickly gives way to anger. Her mouth tightens, brows drawing together and casting shadows over her eyes. Her nostrils flare slightly, and I can feel the heat of her anger radiating off her.

“I really am not in the mood for your shenanigans, Baron. I’ve had to deal with enough assholes for today.” Heather’s voice is dangerously low, and she clenches her jaw as her chest rises and falls with deep, measured breaths. I try not to stare at those milky twins almost spilling out of her tight dress.

“I’m not joking, Heather. Now why don’t you take a deep breath and listen to what I have to say?”

Heather scoffs but doesn’t say anymore. She looks away from me and stares at the framed photo of the bar owner and some A-list celebrity on the wall by the door. The fact that she hasn’t left yet and is willing to listen is all the encouragement I need.

“You need a fake boyfriend for your grandmother’s party, and I need a girlfriend to take to the company’s founding anniversary.” I stand and round the table, pulling out a chair for her. She jumps out of my reach as if I have something that would infect her. “Sit down, Heather. This is going to be a long talk.”

She plops down on the hard stool, and I ignore the impulse to run my hand over the curve of her ass. I can’t even count how many times I’ve jerked off to thoughts of her wide hips, thick thighs, and glorious ass. She fills dresses and denim jeans like no other.

Not fucking now, Baron.

I’m glad for the lighting and my dark jeans because she can’t see the tent in my pants, and as I sit across from her, I shift uncomfortably, my cock straining against my zipper. “So here’s the thing. I go with you to your grandmother’s party, and you go with me to the anniversary. We’ll both act like we’re crazy about each other.” Which isn’t going to be hard for me. I am. I’ve been crazy about Heather since grade school.

Heather closes her eyes and breathes deeply. When she opens them, I’m struck by the realization that I’ve never had a conversation with her like this. Not this close and definitely not talking like adults. Our interactions are mostly taunts, jabs, jokes, and pranks. “Why me?”

“Why not you? Showing up with The Heather Cain on my arm? I’ll have enough bragging rights until the day I die.” It’s true, though. Heather rarely dates, and I distinctly remember some of the guys betting who could take her to prom. Then, she went alone. That was partly my doing, of course.

“Everyone knows we hate each other.”

I lift a finger. “One, hate is such a strong word. I don’t hate you, Heather.”

She folds her arms over her chest, unknowingly pushing her tits upward, and raises a brow at me. “Could’ve fooled me.”

I ignore her. “Two, who’s everyone?”

“Everyone as in everyone. Have you forgotten everything you did?”

“Maybe, I don’t know. Remind me again.”

Heather leans forward, and I almost wither in my seat with the way she’s glaring at me. “You started the rumor that I liked to flirt with our janitor. He had a wife and three kids.”

“The janitor’s name is Keith, and no one believed that, Heather. He was like 70.”

“You also told everyone I pooped in my pants after I sat on brown paint in art class.”


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