Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
“Actually, it’s the opposite. Like, this man hooks up more than a celebrity, yet you won’t hear a bad word about him. Everyone who knows him or who’s been with him gets all starry-eyed when you bring him up. Starts gushing about how sweet and wonderful he is. And great in bed, of course.”
“Of course,” I echo, rolling my eyes. Inside, I’m a bit relieved to hear he doesn’t have a slimy reputation.
“How did you meet him? What did you talk about?” She links her arm through mine. “I want all the details.”
We spend the next hour in town, where I strike out on the girls’ birthday presents. I realize I’m going to have to ask Dad for suggestions, which feels like defeat. Joy drops me off at home and we make plans to return to the boardwalk later to catch some live music. She leaves me with the promise that she’ll grab me at eight and absolutely, one hundred percent not bail on me this time.
At home, I pass the rest of the day reading by the pool and texting with Peyton, then eat dinner with Grandma on the back deck overlooking the quiet bay. I offer to play cards with her afterward, but she wants to turn in early, so we part ways at the top of the staircase, Grandma heading to her room and me ducking into mine.
I always stay in the same room when I visit. Decorated in shades of white and yellow, the bedroom is spacious and airy, with hardwood flooring, a private en suite bath, and a big bay window with a built-in reading bench. Other than the antique desk and armoire, the main piece of furniture is the huge four-post bed that I toss my phone onto.
I need to take a shower, wash my hair, and find something cute to wear into town tonight. Operation Fling may have hit a snag last night, but if I’m serious about finding myself a passionate summer affair—and I am—then it’s time to kick that plan into gear.
Ideally, my super-hot and apparently very-open-to-hookups neighbor would be the one to have a fling with, but I’ve already had two opportunities to make a move, or at least ask for his number, and I’ve blown it both times. Therefore, putting all my eggs in the Tate basket probably isn’t a smart move. I need to be open to meeting other guys. Broadening my fling horizons.
And no better time to start than tonight.
I pull the elastic off and begin undoing my braid, wandering toward the window to preemptively close the curtains before my shower.
Then I freeze. My fingers go motionless, my half-undone braid forgotten.
From my window, I have a clear view of the house next door. And the window next door. The one that faces mine. And since the two houses are separated by mere yards, and there aren’t any trees on the side path that cuts between the homes, I am provided with a clear, unobstructed, perfect, glorious view of Tate as he undresses in the bedroom across the way.
My breath lodges in my throat.
He’s facing away from me, and I practically drool while I watch the sinewy muscles of his back ripple as he tosses his shirt aside. His shoulders are broad, arms well-sculpted. He reaches for the waistband of his swim trunks.
His shorts drop to the floor and I almost choke on my tongue.
Holy fuck. I knew he had a nice butt, but seeing it in all its bare glory is … otherworldly. I can’t take my eyes off it. I feel like a total perv, and I know if the situation was reversed and he was watching me change from his window, I’d be reporting him to the cops. But I’m frozen in place, unable to tear my gaze away.
Turn away, Cassandra.
Turn away.
Stop it.
My mouth has gone completely dry. His body is spectacular. Hard planes and lean muscles and long, tanned limbs all joining together to form one outrageously sexy specimen of a man. I’m breathing hard now. Heart pounding. Tate drags one hand through hair that appears a bit windblown, wandering around the room as if in search of something. Completely naked. Completely oblivious to the fact that his next-door neighbor is ogling him.
Then he turns toward the window.
And he’s not so oblivious anymore.
He’s visibly startled when our eyes lock. His brow furrows. Lips part, just slightly. I catch one brief glimpse of the full-frontal experience before I spin on my heel and dart away from the window. My heart rate is officially in cardiac arrest territory. He caught me looking. What the hell do I do now? What if he reports me or tells my grandmother—
My phone lights up.
“Oh my God,” I moan out loud.
I can barely walk over to the bed, that’s how weak my legs feel. My hand trembles as I reach for the phone. I grab it and dive into the bathroom, as far away from that damned window as possible.