Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
I turn over and try again for sleep, but of course, I have to look when I hear Max come out after his shower.
“Where are your shirts?” I wail, instantly regretting voicing my frustration out loud. I school my tone, trying to sound like I’m more concerned about their welfare. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable wearing shirts to sleep?”
“Would you be more comfortable if we wore shirts, Callie? Are all these muscles too distracting?”
I hate that Max reads me so well, though in this case, I wasn’t exactly being subtle.
“I just … want to make sure you’ll be warm enough.”
He chuckles as he pulls a white t-shirt over his head, and from where he’s standing, facing me, I swear he’s making a show of it.
He tosses a folded shirt to his brother. “Here, Miles, put this on so Callie isn’t drooling over us all night.”
I’m lying on my side, so I can’t see Miles, but my brain helpfully replays the image of Max pulling white cotton over tanned skin, the shirt somehow only emphasizing his size and strength.
“Goodnight, Callie.” Max’s tone is still playful.
“Goodnight.”
“‘Night, Callie.”
“Goodnight, Miles.”
I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. This is the weirdest, most frustrating sleepover party I’ve ever attended.
CHAPTER 26
MILES
I’d have given Callie a goodnight kiss if Max wasn’t here. A real kiss, not one being cheerleaded by a horny senior citizen.
So it’s a good thing he is here, because a real kiss would be disastrous. Or, at the very least, inadvisable and ethically questionable.
I had to remind myself of all the reasons that kissing her again is a terrible idea as I tried to fall asleep. My night was restless, and sleeping on the floor wasn’t the problem.
Now, in the morning, my head is clearer, focused back on business. Though, to be safe, after I get dressed I sit with my back to the room so I can’t see Callie get up and go into the bathroom.
Max makes a flirty comment when she comes out, and I can’t resist turning to see her in her yoga clothes. Why do they have to fit her like a second skin? How could someone’s ass possibly look as good as hers does?
She’s scanning the room. “Is there a coffee maker in here?”
“There is, but I saw a coffee shop in the lobby. I’ll get an iced coffee for you. Oat milk and vanilla syrup, right?”
She blinks at me, probably surprised that I remembered this detail from our preparation. “Yeah. Thank you, Miles.”
Since last night, she looks at me differently, and her voice is softer when she says my name. Red lights flash “Danger!” in my head, but my cock begs me to ignore them.
“How much time until we need to be downstairs?” I ask.
More pretty fluttering from those dark lashes. “Oh. Are you coming to the yoga class?”
“Of course.”
My brother snickers at this, but lets it pass without comment.
“You’ll probably be the only man there,” she warns.
I shrug. “I’m used to that.”
“We need to be there in half an hour.”
“I’ll be right back with coffee.”
Though she doesn’t know it, Callie is doing us a favor, and I’d be getting coffee for anyone in her position. I’m not doing it because I find her attractive and want to win favor with her. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
When I reach the lobby, I find out this errand has other benefits.
“He’s in line for coffee,” I text Max.
His response comes immediately. “Keep him busy.”
And I do.
“I’m so sorry about my aunt last night.” Callie and I are on the way down to the lawn for yoga. I’m carrying two mats she brought from home, and she’s carrying two towels.
“It was fine.”
“I had no idea she had a side like that to her.”
“Alcohol has a strange effect on some people.”
“I wonder if she’ll even remember any of it.” The look on Callie’s face tells me exactly what she’s remembering, though I get the sense that, like me, she’s trying not to remember. She felt it too; I know she did—and that makes things worse.
I change the subject. “It’s a shame you have to work while you’re here enjoying time off.”
“You mean lead the yoga session?” When I nod, she says, “I don’t consider this work. Getting up at the crack of dawn to go to the health club isn’t my favorite thing, and three classes in a row can be a lot, depending on how much I demonstrate, but I’d be doing yoga even if it wasn’t my job.”
“That’s good. That’s the best kind of job to have.”
“What about you?” I prepare for questions about my job, but instead she asks, “What has you so devoted to yoga?”
My primary answer has everything to do with how her ass looks in those yoga pants, so I give her the secondary reason. “I’m working on my flexibility.”