Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Nothing is going to stand in my way now—definitely not clothes. I scan the shop quickly. It has everything a traveler might want, even a bikini, which Chloe might need. I flick through them and pick one. Next, I spot a light-blue sundress that looks perfect for her, and I grab that too. I snag some slides that look like they’ll fit her. Toss in a polo for me too. Then swipe my phone and thank the clerk.
When I meet Chloe back in the lobby, I hand her a bag with the shoes, the bikini, and the dress. “Just a little something.”
“And the gallantry keeps on coming,” she says, then lifts my wrist and eyes my watch. I shouldn’t like it so much—the way she curls her fingers around me. But I do. Oh hell, do I. “I’ll see you in twenty minutes,” she says.
“I’ll be the guy at the end of the bar,” I say.
Her lips twitch in a grin. “See you soon…at the end of the bar.”
With the bag swinging in her hand, she strides toward the bank of elevators, head held high even with her shoes squeaking on the floor and her dress sticking to her.
With the memory of her touch lingering on my arm, I head to the men’s room, wash my hands, strip off my damp shirt, and tug on the polo. After I ask the valet to toss the other shirt in my car, I pop around the corner into a drugstore, then go straight to the hotel bar to wait for a woman who is very much worth waiting for.
This is so much better than stressing over my to-do list alone. I guess my sister was right—that I needed some fun.
Well, universe, let’s see what you’ve got.
5
SURPRISE ME
CHLOE
Ordinarily, I’d do the usual routine before a date—FaceTime my friends, show them the outfit, get their approval. The clock is ticking though, and I don’t have time for a proper clothing check. I quickly text my besties Ripley and Bridget in Darling Springs to let them know I’m staying in the city overnight courtesy of Florence and also that I met a hot guy. As I use the lipstick from my clutch as both blush and lipstick—life hack for the win—I fire off a final text.
Chloe: If you don’t hear from me in a couple hours, say a prayer because I’m being banged within an inch of my life.
Ripley: Dear Goddess of All the Orgasms, please rain them down on our friend Chloe tonight.
Bridget: Can I get an amen?
Ripley: But you’d better take a picture of his driver’s license and send it to us.
Chloe: In case he cuts my head off?
Ripley: Yes, Chloe. In the event of your beheading, it would be incredibly helpful to know who did it.
Bridget: Also, we already knew where you were. We do have your location.
Chloe: But no googling him unless there’s going to be a second date.
Sometimes men are more attractive the less you know about them.
I check myself in the mirror one more time, then rush off to the elevator, which takes an interminable amount of time to arrive, since everyone knows time slows to a crawl when you’re horny.
As I pace in the hallway, I’m a little tingly imagining how tonight might unfold.
And on the ride to the lobby too. But once I step off the elevator, I pause. Am I making a mistake again because I didn’t think things all the way through? Like I did that night in Vegas when I impulsively married my former high school boyfriend, after reconnecting with him at our high school reunion?
Look where that last-minute choice got me. Divorced and fired.
But all the more reason to keep tonight firmly in the hookup zone.
Ready for whatever the night brings, I cross the lobby and turn the corner into the bar. My heart stupidly skips a beat when I find Sawyer exactly where he promised he’d be. At the end of the bar, with a glass of iced tea in front of him. Music plays overhead. Sounds like Journey. Maybe “Don’t Stop Believin’”?
And is Sawyer…singing along to it?
Well, air singing, since he’s sort of mouthing the words, drumming out a beat on the counter with his hands.
I smother a smile so I don’t look too giddy when I walk his way. But really, this is a great sign. Would a beheader sing along to Journey? I don’t think so. I march over, eye the stool next to him, and say, “Is this seat taken?”
Sawyer rises, a knowing look in his eyes as he sweeps them up and down me in a shameless tour of my body. But he doesn’t answer my question with words. He answers with actions when he cups my cheek, strokes his thumb down my jawline, then comes in close, dipping his face toward mine. Giving me time to say no.