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)
Sawyer looks at his shoulder like it’s infected, but says, clear and firm, “And you can go now.”
“We will,” Hallie pipes in, then looks to me. “Since it seems you’re not the only game in town. Strutting in here like you can get everything because you’re cute.”
“That’s not how I am,” I spit out. What the hell is up with this double attack?
“It kind of is,” August says.
“Like I said, time to leave,” Sawyer says, staring him down like he’s going to rip off his limbs. He won’t of course. Sawyer’s a gentleman. He’d never do that. But August doesn’t know that.
August holds up his hands in surrender, flashing a fake smile. “No worries. It’s your turn now with her. I get it, man. I’m not trying to make a move. But you can enjoy my seconds.”
Sawyer growls. There’s no other way to describe the noise he makes. It’s a full-throated growl. I glance at him, and his fists are clenched, his jaw is set, but the thing is…his eyes don’t look mad.
They look calculating. He takes one more step toward my ex, who’s standing at the edge of the pool.
When he cuts between Hallie and August, Sawyer stumbles. That’s so unlike him. He’s always sure on his feet—
Oh.
He grabs the back of August’s leg like he’s catching himself, but his balance is perfect. It’s a fake out. He drives his elbow into the back of August’s knee.
August flails, then topples backward into the deep end, linen clothes and all.
Sawyer just pulled a Shortcake.
Someone gasps. Someone else claps. Another person cheers. Hallie curses.
August splashes around, reaching for something—then snatches a tennis ball and tosses it away into the water like it’s personally offended him.
A bark rings out.
I whip my gaze to Jubilee. She’s making a run for it, all eight perfect shampooed pounds of her, flying out of her chair, scrambling across the deck, and jumping right into the pool.
Everyone gasps.
35
THE HUMAN HAS A BEEF
SAWYER
Levi rushes to the edge of the pool, hands on his thighs, bent over in shock and utter delight at August still flapping his arms.
Jubilee clutches the ball in her tiny mouth as if ball is life is her mantra.
And everyone—every single guest, including the three actresses—gawks at the scene in the pool.
Levi whips his gaze to me, then lets out an approving, “Boss man, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
Hazel is right next to him, offering me a hand for high-fiving. “You’re human after all. You’re not a robot.”
I don’t high-five back. I’m too shocked.
“I stand corrected,” Levi says, pride in his voice. “I said nothing fazed you when a dog stole your tie. But holy smokes—a jackass talking smack about your woman riles you all the way up.” He pokes my chest. “Yup. Human.”
“And the human has a beef,” Hazel adds.
No one has ever talked about me like that. And it’s horrifying. I’m not the guy who has a beef. I’m the guy who fixes beefs.
I barely know what came over me. I’m slack-jawed, and I can’t believe I pushed someone in a pool, let alone pretended I was about to fall. And now—ah, fuck—everyone is staring at August, at me, at Jubilee, phones out, recording the whole thing from every angle.
Fuck. My. Life.
“Get her. Save her. She’s wet.”
The cry comes from Alexandra, and all I can think is the dog looks happier than I’ve ever seen her as she paddles across the deep end, tennis ball between her teeth.
“She’s happy! She’s smiling! And no one had to give her a command,” Hazel says, defending the dog’s right to swim.
“But. She’s. Wet,” Alexandra says, and Corinne is at the edge of the pool, tugging off her shirt and revealing a bathing suit underneath. She’s ready to dive in to save a dog who knows how to paddle. Veronica, Saffron, and Ava are gathered at the side of the pool, eyes wide and sparkling.
When August’s beady eyes spell opportunity, and he freestyles his way to Jubilee—
Nope. I fucked this day up. I need to unfuck it. I jump in, shoes and all, and swim to Jubilee, beating that jackass thanks to my triathlon training. I scoop the dog into my arms.
She drops the ball into the chlorinated water, then barks at it. Loud, insistent. Saying ball is mine.
“She’s fine,” I say, but it sounds empty because of course she’s fine. She’s a dog. She can swim.
And evidently, she loves it, since she’s trying to wiggle out of my arms and chase the ball in the water.
“Let her,” Veronica cheers.
“Yes! She’s so happy,” Saffron adds.
“She’s having the best dog day ever,” Ava says, piling on.
Alexandra huffs. She doesn’t like messes at all. But I’ve already made a huge one, and at least the actresses are saving my ass.
And Chloe’s saving the day too. She’s distracted the other dogs, urging them over to her, offering treats at the edge of the pool as Corinne and Alexandra decide what to do about their very wet, very happy dog star.