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)
Sarah begins to say something more, but Jonas cuts her off.
“Because I love my baby more than life itself.”
Sarah takes in a sharp breath. “Holy crappola,” she whispers.
“Holy shitballs,” I reply, my heart racing vicariously for her. “Is that the first time?”
She shakes her head. “No, but definitely the first time in front of other people.”
“Aw.” I grab her hand. “Our little boy is growing up.”
Sarah smiles broadly. “That gorgeous man never ceases to surprise me.”
“I could say the same thing about that gorgeous man’s brother,” I say.
I stare at Josh for a long beat. He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt today, a rarity for the ever-fashionable Playboy, and he looks hot as freaking hell. Jesus God, everything about that man—from his taut muscles to the slight wave of his dark hair to his sly smile, even the dragon on his bicep peeking out from his short sleeve—is drawing me to him uncontrollably.
But, damn, he’s stubborn. And guarded, too—deceptively so. He comes off as so open and easygoing, but he’s hiding darkness under there, I can feel it. I try to imagine Josh fucking me in a bunny suit, but that doesn’t ring true. More than likely, he’s into S&M, right? He’s gotta be some kind of a dom—into whips and chains and butt plugs. I imagine myself calling him “master” in a doggie collar and my clit pulses. I could work with that. Or, whoa, wait, maybe he’s a sub? Holy Not What I’m Hoping For, Batman. Not at all. That’s the thing—it could be anything. It’s killing me not knowing.
“Kat?” Sarah says.
“Sorry,” I say. “Got distracted.”
Sarah gives me a document and asks me to scour it for any references to international money transfers.
“Sure thing,” I say. But the words on the page are beginning to blur. My head is bobbing on my neck like I’m a drowsy truck driver. I didn’t even study this hard in college, for crying out loud.
For the hundredth time tonight, I glance over at Josh across the room. He’s engaged in an animated conversation with Jonas about... What the heck are those two jabbering about now?—I strain to listen over the music on Sarah’s laptop—oh, which NFL quarterback is the greatest of all time. Well, that’s an easy one: Joe Montana. Everyone knows that. Duh. Surely, my dad, mom, and three out of four of my brothers would say the same thing.
“It’s a no-brainer,” Josh says. “Joe Montana.”
I smile broadly to myself. Josh would fit right in with my family.
“That’s the conventional answer,” Jonas says. “But I’d argue Peyton Manning has recently overtaken the top spot.”
I roll my eyes. Well, that’s plain ridiculous.
“No way,” Josh says from across the room. “That’s fucking ridiculous.”
I smile to myself again. Great minds think alike.
Jonas keeps arguing his (ridiculous) position until, suddenly, without warning, Josh reaches up, midsentence, and flicks Jonas’ forehead with his index finger.
Jonas abruptly stops talking and puts his hand on his forehead. “Ow.”
For a short beat, it’s not clear if Jonas is gonna throttle Josh or laugh uncontrollably, but then Jonas’ features contort into unmistakable amusement and he lets out a belly laugh, causing Josh to burst out laughing, too. All tension averted, Josh leans back, spreads his legs, and shifts his dick in his pants.
“Dumbshit,” Josh mutters, shaking his head.
Jonas chuckles.
“Peyton Manning.”
“Sorry,” Jonas says, still laughing.
“You should be, bro—you fucking should be.”
The boys laugh together a bit more and then finally refocus their attention on Jonas’ laptop.
My jaw is hanging open.
My chest is tight.
My pulse is pounding in my ears.
I can’t take my eyes off Josh, though all he’s doing is staring at a laptop.
Audra Mae is singing from Sarah’s laptop into my ear, and suddenly, I realize her lyrics were written for me—for this moment. I want Josh. And I’m coming for him, just like Audra Mae is coming for her man in the song.
Josh had better watch the fuck out.
Forget what I said about wanting to take a break from our battle to the death. That was before this moment—before Josh correctly named Joe Montana as the all-time best NFL quarterback of all time. Before Josh defended his (correct) position with a perfectly timed forehead-flick, expertly diffusing potential tension with humor. Before he shifted his donkey-dick in his pants for the umpteenth time, making my crotch burn and my pulse race. Before Audra Mae and the Almighty Sound entered the room and belted out my own feelings into my ear. And, most of all, that was before Josh Faraday paid some ungodly amount of money to my boss so I can continue saving the world here in Las Vegas with him and keep my job in Seattle, too. “And speaking for myself personally, I have no desire to save the world without my Party Girl with a Hyphen by my side,” Josh said. Holy hell, I get goose bumps just thinking about him saying those words to me.