Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 108846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
“Why’d you leave Indy, anyway?”
I hesitate. “Needed a change, is all.”
He grins. “A chick.”
Connor’s more perceptive than he lets on. “Something like that.” More like the girl of my dreams. The one I’m still madly in love with, even though she pulverized my heart.
He leans back and closes his eyes, his gelled blond hair leaving smudges against the mirrored elevator wall. “Don’t worry. You’ll get enough Miami pussy to forget that one. You’re gonna fit in great with the guys here.”
And I meet them in … five hours, based on my watch. I groan. The plan was to fly in tonight—Thursday—and get settled so I was ready for a Monday morning start. But HR called me yesterday, asking me to start tomorrow. I agreed.
I probably shouldn’t have drank so much tonight. Connor’s a bad influence—not that I need much help. But at least we get along well. Thank God, seeing as I have to live and work with him.
I had very few requirements when I answered the housing ad on the online Wolf employee bulletin board while planning this job transfer.
Four walls and a bed? Check.
Bathroom? Check.
Cheap rent? Check.
Connor asked me where I’d be working. I said outdoor maintenance, and he told me the room was mine. Just like that, thirty seconds into the conversation. No reference checks, no “I’ll call you back.” That probably would have raised some red flags with other people, but I didn’t give a shit. I needed to get as far away from everything as I could. Beach and sunshine seemed like a no-brainer.
I follow Connor along the bright hallway of the fourth floor to our condo on the end.
“Shit.” Connor drops his keys twice before managing to get the door unlocked, only to drop them again once inside. They land on the doormat, on a pair of women’s gold sandals. “Why is she home?” he mutters, more to himself.
“Who?”
“Ryan.”
I can’t tell if Connor is a bit dense or hammered. “Who’s Ryan?”
Connor tosses his keys on the counter, causing a loud clatter. “My sister.”
I stop dead. “Your sister lives here?”
“Yeah. Didn’t I tell you?”
“No.” And the ad neglected mention of a second roommate.
“Oh. Yeah, my sister lives with us. She has the room next to yours.” Connor stumbles over to the fridge to pull out two Gatorades, tossing one to me. “She said she was staying at her boyfriend’s tonight. Don’t know what happened.” He chugs half the bottle and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why? You got a problem with my sister?”
“Nah, man. It just would have been nice to know that I was living with two people instead of one.”
He waves me off. “Whatever. She’s easy to live with. She’s always at work, or in class, or at the library. She’s tidy and super nice. Cute. You know, in that smart-girl way. You guys share the bathroom, but you’ll be heading to work before her, so it’s not a big deal. Make sure you put the toilet seat down and you’ll be fine.”
I shake my head and ask sarcastically, “Is that all?”
“Uh … yeah?” He smirks at me like I’m the idiot.
I crack open my Gatorade and take a big swig while I digest this latest surprise. Connor has a sister. A college-aged sister, from the sounds of it. And “cute,” whatever that means.
He peers at me oddly. “What’s that look for?”
“Nothing.” I shrug. “Aren’t you supposed to warn me not to get into her pants?”
Connor bursts out with hearty laughter. “Yeah, good luck with that. I doubt her boyfriend can get into her pants half the time.”
I frown at his back as he staggers down the hall toward his room on the opposite side of the condo.
2. Ronan
They may as well make alarms to buzz like a hundred jackhammers drilling into concrete, because that’s basically what it feels like against my skull right now.
I groan, wishing I’d been smarter about the beer intake last night. But stupid is as stupid does, and I must have been hitting the snooze button because now I have ten minutes to get ready before we have to leave for work.
I kick off the blanket I snagged from the living room—I didn’t think to bring sheets and there was literally nothing in this room except a naked mattress on a frame, a nightstand, alarm clock, and a dresser—and haul my weary body out of bed. Making for the door with my toiletry kit tucked under my arm and my eyes half closed, I narrowly avoid doing a face-plant as I trip over the heap of clothes from last night. “Fuck,” I grumble, stumbling out my door and toward the bathroom.
A small form plows right into me.
The girl bounces back into the wall, her headphones and water bottle dropping from her grasp to hit the floor. She looks like she just came back from a run, her fair skin glowing, her T-shirt drenched in sweat, her brown hair pulled back into a damp, matted ponytail.