Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Unfortunately for me, that’s not a conversation I make it to with most women I shag.
“Well,” Gabby says loudly, pulling my gaze up to hers, “you gonna call ‘Stacy’s Mom’ or what?”
Amusement tugs at my lips again, yet Big T belligerently bites, “Who the fuck is Stacy?”
“There is no actual Stacy, baby,” Gabby swiftly reassures while retrieving creamer from the fridge. “I’m just givin’ primo a bit of the business.” The door shutting is followed by her adding. “You know tugging his balls.”
“Do not touch his balls,” her girlfriend hisses.
“She’s never touched my balls,” I immediately announce.
“I would never touch his balls,” Gabby sighs as she unscrews the lid.
“Do not even think about his balls,” Big T commands.
On a light chuckle, I suggest, “Could we please stop talking about my balls?”
Gabby grunts a laugh, and the sound seems to put her partner momentarily at ease. She carefully begins filling the mug and continues the conversation with me. “If you want my opinion-”
“Do I ever?” I juvenilely jab back.
“Why wouldn’t you?” Big T barks. “She’s fucking brilliant!”
“You have got to breathe, babe,” Gabby scolds prior to turning to face me. “And you have got to call this woman. We need another body in this apartment to balance out the constant hostility.”
Grinning mindlessly occurs. “My calling her is strictly about your needs then?”
“As they damn well should be,” she playfully pokes back.
“Only I should be tending to your needs,” Big T bellyaches, loudly. Firmly.
“Then why don’t we go tend to those now while primo makes the most important phone call of his life,” my best mate offers on the grabbing of a spoon.
“You may be overselling this situation a tiny bit, Gabby.”
“Or maybe, you might just be underprepared for it, Tate.” Her sassy retort is accompanied by the stirring of her beverage, a wink, and the eventual leading of her girlfriend out of the room by the hand.
Flopping backwards on a heavy sigh is done the second I hear her bedroom door shut.
Perhaps she’s right.
Maybe I’m not ready for whatever dating a divorcee entails. Is it really any different than dating any other type of woman? And why am I assuming she wants to date rather than just spend a few days shagging? Am I being hopeful? Am I leading with that train of thought because it’s what I ultimately want? Am I reluctant about starting something because for the first time, in a long time, I think this shite could really go somewhere?
For fucks sake, do I have to know all of these answers before I simply dial?
Sounds of sudden moaning lead to me rolling off the furniture and grabbing my cell to bail to the balcony patio. Outside, my arse gets braced against the railing while I casually dial, buying myself time to calm my nerves.
Steady my voice.
I don’t know why I’m nervous.
I’m rarely ever fucking nervous.
What is it about this woman that has me – to quote my favorite artist of all time – all shook up?
The first ring begins before I even put my ear to the receiver. The next has my body tensing in anticipation, yet the third launches my heart into my throat.
What if she doesn’t answer?
What if she gave me her number to simply shut me up rather than to actually use it?
“This is Ms. Addison,” an out of breath feminine voice proclaims.
Bloody hell.
She gave me a fake number.
I should’ve known.
I should’ve suspected landing a woman like Harper would not be nearly that easy.
“Sorry, Addison. I was trying to ring someone named Harper. My apologies.”
“This is Harper,” she says on a small snicker.
Bemusement wrinkles my brow. “Why did you call yourself Ms. Addison then?”
“Addison is my last name.” There’s a small shuffling sound, I assume is her adjusting the device. “I answer unknown numbers, which are typically work related, that way. It’s more professional.”
Relief has me releasing a small sigh. “I admire your commitment to being professional even when you’re not paid.”
“I’m salary, so technically I’m always being paid.”
It’s my turn to quietly laugh. “She works hard for the money, I see.”
“You are so not old enough to know that song, Tate.”
“I am old enough to know more than you can imagine.” The grin on my face remains as I ask, “And how did you know it was me?”
“I’d know that voice and that accent anywhere.”
“Yeah? Do you hear it in your dreams?”
She fights the urge to let me hear her swoon; however, the awe of my flirting can still be heard in her airy tone. “Maybe…”
“Day or night?”
“Both.”
The tables turn so that it’s me having to bury my flattered nature. “Is Addison your maiden last name or the one you had when you were married?”
“Maiden. I never changed my name to his.”
“Why not?”
“Didn’t see the point in that much paperwork, and Daniel didn’t seem to give a shit either way.”