Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 114492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
“Oh, that’s good,” I said. “Yeah, we’ll definitely need one of those.”
“Mmm hmm,” Sarah said. “Fo shizzle pops.”
There was a very, very long beat, during which I held my breath and bit the inside of my cheek with anticipation until Sarah burst out laughing.
“Oh, Kitty Kat. Of course, the Playboy’s gonna be there, too. Wherever Jonas goes, Josh goes, too—that’s something as reliable as gravity.”
I exhaled like I’d just surfaced from being held forcibly underwater.
I hate to admit it, but I’ve been going out of my mind thinking about Josh this whole week while he’s been in New York—I can’t remember the last time my Rabbit’s gotten this much action in a single week.
Thankfully, Josh has made it clear he’s been thinking about me, too, though he’s obviously playing his cards close to his vest, the smooth bastard. On the one hand, he’s sent multiple texts this past week, just enough to let me know he’s thinking about me, but, on the other hand, his texts say absolutely nothing. No teasing. No innuendo. No semi-inappropriate photos. Not even any questions about Cameron Fucking Schulz. And, notably, no reference whatsoever to his application, despite my explicit demands for it. Just the occasional, “Hey, Party Girl” and “Whatcha doing, hot stuff?” or “Did you have a nice dream about me last night, PG?”
Of course, I know Josh’s game—I’ve played it a time or two (or three) myself: he’s forcing me to make the first move—breaking me down, making me question his interest. Bush league. He clearly doesn’t understand whom he’s dealing with here.
Well, two can play the “I don’t give a shit” game. Hmmph. All week, I’ve answered each and every one of Josh’s texts with pleasant but brief and noncommittal bullshit. “Hey yourself,” I’ve replied. Or “Oh, nothing, just looking for something interesting to read—hint hint,” or, on occasion, “None of your freaking beeswax, PB.” If Josh thinks I’m gonna chase him like every other girl obviously does, he’s sadly mistaken. And so, to put it mildly, our recent communications have been textually unsatisfying—while subtextually dripping with heat—and the whole situation is making me want to jump his freaking bones.
Bastard.
I continue pounding on Jonas and Sarah’s door, my excitement about to boil over.
“Hey!” I shout again. “Vegassssssss!”
The door to Jonas and Sarah’s room opens abruptly and Sarah’s beaming face greets me.
“Woohoo!” I shriek, throwing my arms around her.
Sarah clutches me like her life depends on it and the two of us jump up and down, screaming, for a solid minute. When we finally unravel our bodies, I enter the spacious suite, instantly in awe.
“Wow,” I say, marveling at the splendor of our surroundings. Wall-to-wall marble floors. Sleek leather and glass furniture. Light fixtures that look like works of art. And, the coup de grace, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking The Strip.
“Wow, Jonas,” I say. “You really knocked yourself out. I bet, like, rock stars and Prince Harry stay in this place, especially with that private elevator to get up here. It’s amazing.”
Jonas is standing by the fully stocked bar, looking hella hot in his jeans and tight T-shirt, if I do say so. “I wanted to show my precious baby an extra good time,” Jonas says, “seeing as how this is her first trip to Sin City.”
My precious baby? I glance at Sarah and she’s positively giddy. Is it possible the manwhore has changed his manwhoring ways at the magic touch of the right woman? I’ve read about that mythical phenomenon in fairytales, but I’ve never seen it happen in real life—or, at least, it’s never happened to me.
“Oh, Jonas,” Sarah coos, blushing. “You’re so sweet.”
Jonas’ face bursts with immediate color. Aw, he’s absolutely adorable right now. I just wanna pinch his cheeks. I can plainly see why Sarah’s so smitten with him—this boy’s a puppy!—I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.
“Thank you for paying for my flight, Jonas,” I say, smiling. “And my room.”
“You’re welcome. You got checked in okay?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Sarah flashes an adorable smile at Jonas and he returns it.
Oh good lord, these two are smitten. “Did you see this view?” I say, grabbing Sarah’s hand and pulling her to the floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end of the room. “Just wait ’til you see The Strip at night. The lights are gonna blow you away.” I sigh. “God, I love Vegas.”
“I’ve seen The Strip in movies,” Sarah says, “but I bet it’s really cool in person.”
I glance at the bar and spy a bottle of my favorite champagne chilling on ice. “Oh, champagne!” I squeal. This day just keeps getting better and better.
“I’ll get you a glass,” Jonas says, moving gracefully toward the bar.
There’s a loud knock at the door to the suite. “Open up, you beast!”
Oh my God. Every hair on my body stands on end. He’s here. Shit. I wish I’d checked my makeup before heading up to Jonas and Sarah’s room. Gah. “Do I look okay?” I whisper to Sarah. I bare my teeth. “Do I have anything in my teeth?”