Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
He rubs his fingers together. I grab some bills from my wallet and slap them in his palm. Axel does too, and Bryan follows suit. Once Drew’s collected his bet, we leave the games behind and grab a table at the bar and order a round.
I haven’t seen the whole crew like this in a few months—Axel was traveling in Europe, researching his latest novel, and Drew lives in California, but he spends time in New York during the summers.
It’s good to see the guys again. When I was with Callie, I didn’t spend much time with my friends. She didn’t like it when I hung out with anyone but her.
Man, I wish I’d read the warning signs sooner.
But then, when I was a kid, I didn’t see the signs that my dad was cheating on my mom. Maybe my douche-radar has been on the fritz my whole life, and I’m destined to misread people.
Hell, I’m not terribly good at figuring out Veronica either.
I suppose it’s safer with her on the platonic side, even though my dick disagrees. But he and I don’t often see eye to eye.
When the server brings us beers, I thank her then offer a toast. “To . . . adulting,” I say, more heavily than I expect.
Axel knits his brow. “You’re no fun.”
“Tell me about it,” I say.
My brother clinks his bottle to mine. “I take it your half-hearted toast has something to do with your Be a Good Boy project?”
Drew sits up taller. “I want to hear about this. Are you behaving, Milo?”
“Yes, and I have no idea if this is good or bad. But I know this much—it’s both character-building and dick-torturing, having to work with someone you’re wickedly attracted to,” I mutter.
Bryan laughs humorlessly. “I’ll drink to that.” One of his ex-boyfriends is a carpenter he worked with, and the results from that dating decision were disastrous.
“Another reason why I work alone,” Axel says, a little smug.
Drew leans forward, meeting my gaze. “What’s the story? I miss hearing your romantic woes. They make me feel better about myself.”
“Gee thanks,” I say, drily. But I do want to talk about Veronica. Working with her all day winds up my libido. Trying to understand her tangles my brain. But lately, I feel more than lust. Whether I can figure out her secret or not, I can’t stop thinking about her. She’s funny, clever, bright, and seems to have a fascinating life outside of work. The more I get to know her, the more I want to know her.
“So there’s this woman who took over for Iris. But I met her at a cake shop when I was filling in for Iris’s husband a few months ago,” I say, taking them back to the starting line. “And we had a fun conversation then. Maybe a month or two later, I was on my way to the arbitration hearing, and I hopped onto the sidewalk to avoid a truck.”
Axel shakes his head, huffing. “Cyclists on the sidewalk are the bane of my existence.”
Drew grins wickedly at his cousin. “I thought bad grammar was? You were bitching about the misuse of lay and lie the other week.”
“You lay an egg. You lie down in bed. It’s not hard, people,” Axel snarls like the malcontent he is.
“But what about laid? That’s what I like to do in bed.” Bryan smirks, stretching his big arms behind his head and parking them there.
“Yes, I believe we all like to do that in bed,” Axel drawls.
Drew cups his mouth. “Earth to dickwads. I’m actually interested in Milo’s tale of woe.”
“Thank you, Drew,” I say, then tell them about StudMuffin lunging for my bike, Veronica inadvertently flashing me her panties, us both spraying glitter on my beard, then me finding the lost earrings. “And after I returned them, we started texting, and now she’s my employee.”
Axel whistles, long and appreciatively. “That sounds like one hell of a meet-cute.”
Bryan squeezes my shoulder protectively. “But Milo has a list a mile long of why he doesn’t want to get . . .”
The sentence dies, and I follow my brother’s gaze to Drew, who holds his beer, hand frozen midair.
“Are you okay?” I ask, a little concerned.
The football player blinks, then stares at me with new eyes. “I know who you are,” he whispers. “You’re Mister Sexy Pants.”
14
Yes, I am
Milo
* * *
Drew points at me like I’m suddenly a celebrity. “You’re a character in a dating column,” he explains, grabbing his phone as I try to make sense of his gibberish. He taps repeatedly on the screen while talking a mile a minute. “The writer is anonymous, but she calls herself Your Friendly Neighborhood Virgin, and there’s a guy she has a crush on who appears in her stories. His name is Mister Sexy Pants.”
The hair on my arms stands on end. Is he pulling my leg? I mean, that’s the kind of shit friends do to each other.