Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“Okay, actually. We’ll start from where we’re standing right now.”
Dear god, if Cole somehow catches wind of this, I’ll die.
Camila and Lara are happy for me. Happy enough to insist I let them help me out as I get ready for my date.
“This eye shadow expired three years ago!” Lara says, holding up a brown shade she must have found at the bottom of my makeup bag.
“Makeup expires?!”
This is news to me.
Camila shakes her head and points to the bag she dropped on my bed when she first arrived. “Just use my stuff. It’s in there. I brought it with me just in case.”
Camila’s behind me with a curling iron, concocting perfect beach waves before spraying my whole head with enough hair spray that I start to hack up a lung.
“Jesus,” I say, waving my hand through the plume of particulates suffocating me.
“What? The island is humid. You want these curls to fall the second you step outside?”
I’m reminded over and over again that beauty is pain as they prepare me for my date. No simple outfit will do. They pour me into a red minidress that squeezes my boobs so tight I can’t take a full breath.
When I complain, Lara levels me with a harsh glare. “Do you want to look insanely hot, or do you want oxygen? You can’t have both.”
“I’ll take the oxygen,” I answer swiftly, tugging my hair aside so that they can unzip the dress and find me something more practical to wear.
“Wrong.”
Okay, then . . . apparently that was rhetorical.
On my way to my date, the absolutely best thing happens, and it’s total happenstance! I’m just breezing past the executive offices in the main lobby (pacing, actually, back and forth)—when I accidentally bump into Cole leaving for the day. He has his suit jacket tossed over his forearm, a utilitarian leather satchel hanging over his shoulder.
When he sees me in my red dress, his eyebrows nearly touch his hairline.
He veers off the path and heads over. When he reaches me, his whistle is low and long, not quite a catcall, but effective in reddening my cheeks all the same.
“That’s some dress. What’s the occasion?”
“Oh, just a date,” I remark like I’m exhausted about the prospect.
Another day, another date! God, I can’t keep these men off me. I need a long stick.
He rubs his chin with his hand, looking away for a moment. Then when his gaze meets mine, it’s sharp, almost spine tingling. “So the whistle worked,” he notes. “Or was it the clicker?”
“I do enjoy your little witticisms, believe me, but if I stand here talking to you much longer, I’m going to be late.”
“Where are you headed?”
“Smith’s.”
“That’s over near staff housing,” he remarks. I hate Cole’s brain and his ability to cut through my bullshit so easily.
“Yes, well, I needed to check my mail,” I lie.
Our mail gets sorted and stashed near reception.
“In those shoes?”
I look down, and down some more. My legs are miles long in these high heels I borrowed from Lara. They’re a half size too small. In the morning, I’ll be hobbling along, sporting blisters the size of Africa, but they’re worth it just to watch Cole slowly swallow, his hungry gaze devouring my legs.
“These? They’re so comfortable.”
I try to shift my stance, to pop a hip and prove my point, but my ankle rolls, and I nearly go down. Cole reaches out to steady me, and I don’t even push him away. I’m actually glad for the support.
“All right,” he says with a long-suffering sigh. “Let’s go. I’ll walk you.”
“If you insist.” My tone is resigned, but my hand on his is desperately screaming Do not let go of me.
I should have practiced more in these high heels before I left my dorm.
“Why didn’t Blaze come and collect you for your date? Surely he’s dying to get his hands on you.”
It occurs to me that Cole has his hands on me, securely, tightly, wonderfully. His arm is a tight band around my back. His hand squeezes my hip with just enough pressure that I don’t have to worry about face-planting once we make it out onto the pebbled path and my ankles turn into spaghetti noodles.
“I think it’s so much more fun to meet at the restaurant, don’t you? That moment when you look up in a crowded dining room to find your date staring at you with unabashed longing.” I pretend to shiver at the prospect of seeing Blaze like that.
“How sweet,” Cole notes like the concept makes him viscerally ill.
“So what are your plans for the night?” I ask, staring up at him with my long mascaraed lashes. “Meeting Tamara somewhere? I saw you two flirting by the pool.”
“We weren’t flirting.”
I hum like I’m barely interested in this conversation. “Really? Could have fooled me.”
He frowns down at me, his gaze glued to my glossy lips. “I’m not hanging out with anyone. I have more work to do tonight.”