Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
“Are you going to hit me if I tell you that you look beautiful?”
She turned her face and studied me. After years of being in the spotlight, I was used to people analyzing me, but I’d never been scrutinized as Lyla did. I wanted to reach over and touch her hair, kiss her lips, fucking hold her in my arms. Kiss her and hold her in my arms? Who the fuck was I? I never kissed the girls. My brother called it my “Pretty Woman bullshit,” but kissing was too personal. I knew it was a strange thing for someone who had no qualms with eating a girl’s pussy to be put off by kissing the lips on her face, but it was something I just wasn’t interested in doing.
“Thank you.” She smiled. It was tiny but there; best of all, it reached her eyes. “You look beautiful as well.”
“One of these days, Lyla, you’re going to say something nice to me and mean it.” I laughed and shook my head as I looked at the boats in the marina.
She turned to face me and leveled me with a serious expression. “I never say things I don’t mean.”
“We have that in common.”
“Hm.” She turned back to the water. “Are you coming over tonight for some porn sex?”
“Are you offering yourself to me?”
She shot me a look. “You know I’m not.”
“Why?”
“You’re having sex with my friend.” She turned her attention to the marina again.
“I’m not.”
“Oh.” Her gaze flashed to mine, a small frown between her eyes.
“Now that we cleared that up, are you down for some porn sex?”
“Still no.”
“Is it because of that guy you’re dating?”
“Lachlan Duke,” she said, keeping her face forward, but I could hear the smile in her voice. “Are you stalking me?”
Was she smiling at the thought of me stalking her? She had no fucking idea how much stalking I’d already done and would continue to do. Was she smiling because she was thinking about him? I didn’t like that option.
“Would you like it if I was?”
She peered up at me and searched my eyes. “No.”
I groaned. “So, it’s because of the guy you’re dating?”
She said nothing as she turned around and started heading inside. I followed behind her like the lost puppy I was — no use in acting tough about it. This fucking girl was turning me inside out with her bullshit.
I opened the door for her. “I’m going to take your silence as a yes.”
She shrugged. “Okay.”
I had never wanted to chase anyone my entire life, and the first person I genuinely wanted to chase didn’t care whether or not I tried. Maybe she was unaffected by me because she was used to guys falling at her feet. Before today, I would’ve had a harder time believing that, but no one in their right mind wouldn’t think she was hot. And she was funny. And Marissa said it was worth it when she opened up to you. I kept my eyes on her the entire time. She reached the lounge chairs first, kicked off her flip-flops, and carefully folded the shirt I’d given her. Once she was done, she peeled off her cover-up and gave me a full view of her toned ass in those tiny bikini bottoms. I had to take a breath and avert my eyes. I didn’t want the guys to see how much she affected me. I didn’t know how, but I would have Lyla James or die trying. For the first time in four years, I was going to put $100 into the dibs collection, and I didn’t even care.
CHAPTER 4
LYLA
The only thing I hated more than a party was a stuffy party, especially ones I was required to attend. I’d already looked out the window of the guest house fifty times, trying to figure out when would be a good time for me to make an appearance and leave. I was aware that many college girls (and guys) would kill for the opportunity to be at my father’s famous Senior Sports Ball. Dad came up with that very original, cringy, on-the-nose name for the event. Only a few seniors from each team were invited. The four themes were recycled: Gatsby (of course), Egyptian, Masquerade, and 1920s (which honestly was Gatsby with another name). Dad loved that theme, which was why this year was the 1920s. I’d done this charade so many times that I had three outfits for each theme. Tonight, I wore a short but loose black and gold flapper dress. The fringe at the bottom hit me at my knees. I’d been waiting to put on my heels when I was ready to go out there. I’d almost gone out twice, but since the party took place in the backyard, it was steps away from the guest house, and I wanted to sneak into the tent without getting noticed.