Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
“I don’t mind. It’s been fun, and I needed to get out of the grind for a bit.” I’ve been putting in long days at the office, and if it wasn’t for my brother and Flip, I’d have no social life. Which is why I was looking forward to this weekend with him and the guys.
“How is the skate prototype coming along, anyway?” he asks.
“Good. Great. The 3D printers make all the difference in getting things right. I think we’ll have something testable in the next few weeks.” I leave it at that. It’s easy to get overly excited about this and start talking above people’s heads. The guys in my office understand, but most other people glaze over when I nerd out.
“You know I’m all for helping test them.”
“Yeah, I appreciate it. We should be at that stage soon.” If things go well, we could have a cutting-edge hockey skate in our fall catalog, and I could end up with an awesome bonus.
We’re called up for round two. This time it’s a Lamborghini, and I get behind the wheel first. Car racing is a blast. We trade spots after a while, and then we switch to the final car. Afterward, we return to the hotel to shower and get ready for dinner. The guys can’t stop talking about their racetrack exploits. You’d think they were pro drivers, not hockey players. They’re like giant twelve-year-olds. I mean, me too, I guess. It was pretty great.
When everyone’s ready, we all head out together. I check my phone and find a new message. The guys are busy either texting their partners or sharing videos they took of the cars they drove.
Essie
Where are you going for dinner?
Nate
Where are you going for dinner?
Essie
I asked first.
A picture of her holding a banana pops up. Her fingernails are a pretty pale pink, and they feature stars in yellow that shoot across her fingers.
Nate
Is this a bribe?
Essie
Is it working?
Nate
No.
It absolutely is. I’m already picturing my cock sliding through her hand, thumb rubbing the crown.
Two more pictures pop up. One is a neck-down shot of Essie standing in front of the bathroom mirror wearing a sparkly, black dress with little pink hearts edging the hem, and a plunging neckline that highlights her cleavage. The second shows off the back of the dress, which dips low in the back. There’s no bra. There can’t be. Which means her nipples are just a thin piece of fabric away.
Essie
*eyelash batting GIF*
Are you sure you don’t want to give me a hint?
Nate
So you can torture me for two hours in that dress? Not a chance.
Another picture comes through. This time it’s a close-up of her mouth, and her lips are wrapped around the banana.
Essie
Suit yourself.
“Everything good, man?” Tristan asks.
“Huh?” I click the side button and my screen goes blank.
“Everything cool?” He glances at my phone.
“Oh, yeah, just checking on dinner reservations.”
I booked a table at a steakhouse. And of course, because this seems to be a weekend of six degrees of separation, we’re seated next to the girls.
They’re all wearing little black dresses and the sashes I spent my entire night running around to deliver. They read BEA’S BABES, and I guess they’re essential to the evening. I’m suppressing an eye roll even now. Whatever. What I do know is that the picture Essie sent has nothing on how good she looks in three dimensions. Her hair falls in loose waves over her bare shoulders, her makeup is artfully applied, and her dress highlights every damn one of her physical assets. As per usual, she receives a lot of double takes and flirty smiles.
“You don’t mind if we move the tables together, do you, bro?” Tristan claps me on the shoulder.
“Not at all,” I lie.
The host and servers jump into action, pulling out Essie’s chair, falling all over themselves to offer their assistance. She bats her lashes and smiles.
It irks me that these guys keep treating her like a pretty object to admire and she just…allows it. Or maybe I’m just pissed because she’s aiming the same smile she gives me at someone else. Or it could be that back in high school, I fit into that category, and I still feel shitty about it.
I end up next to Essie once our tables are pushed together. She pulls a compact out of her purse and fluffs her hair.
“You don’t need to keep checking to make sure you’re still beautiful,” I murmur. “Just ask me, and I’ll tell you.”
Her gaze lifts to my eyebrows. “How is it possible for you to look angry while giving a compliment?”
“It’s not a compliment. It’s a fact.”
She reaches up and smooths her finger between my eyebrows.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re in Vegas, Nate. Your furrowed brow belongs back in Canada.”
I roll my eyes. “You hijacked my boys’ weekend.”
“And you hijacked my girls’ weekend, so it looks like we’re even. All this moping will give you wrinkles, so you should try having a little fun.”