Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 125852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
“I haven’t.” Paige smiles then; it’s too wide and purposeful, so she flutters her lashes his way, going the only route she knows how when it comes to confrontation—sweet as fucking pie. “But if I do, I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.”
Yeah, she will.
She will so I can hide from his ass some more. Cameron and controversy? We don’t mix. We pivot.
“Give it a rest already, Alister the Asshole,” I mutter, not quite feeling the power behind the words this time, especially as I accidently take him in from head to toe and a pout draws to my lips. “But why do you have to be so hot?”
“I was born that way.”
I squeal, lose balance, and fall right into the sink, ass cheek stabbed by the stem of a spatula and sending me jumping forward.
Brady catches me on the edge, his head falling back with laughter, and when he faces forward again, his glossy eyes meet mine. “Cammie Baby,” he purrs, mischief gleaming in his gaze.
“Big guy.” I raise a brow, looking behind him at the barrage of babes waiting to regain his attention. “Having fun?”
“Am now.”
I scoff, then remember what I was doing and swiftly spin my torso, only to find the driveway now empty. I press my lips together, unsure if I’m happy or annoyed.
“Let me guess.” He cuts a quick glance to the window where I have the blinds sneakily open and back. “That little fucker showed up uninvited again?”
“I mean, he is on the football team, and this is technically a party for the football players but yes. Yes, he did.” I sigh, letting my body fall against his big-ass one, and stick my lip out. “I can’t shake him, Brady. I’ve tried and he just…won’t let me.”
Brady’s eyes search mine, a question I can’t read written in his own, though I’m not sure it’s the one he asks. “Do you really want him to? Let you shake him, I mean.”
“Yes.” My answer is fast—maybe too fast—and when that brow of his raises, I groan, covering my face and burying it in his chest. “No. I mean I don’t know,” I mumble against him.
God, I sound pathetic.
Opening my eyes, I meet Brady’s. “Am I having one of those dumb-girl moments?”
“No. He’s just a dipshit.” Brady’s attention snaps over my head, his eyes narrowing and his lips flattening. “But you need to decide what you want to do, ’cause he’s about to walk through the door in five, four, what do you want?”
Panic curls in my belly and I tense up. “I don’t know.”
Brady’s eyes slice to the right, and I hear the front door opening before they then cut back to mine. “Okay, then what do you need?”
“Time.” I swallow.
“Time?” He sets his can down on the counter, standing to his full, massive height.
“Time to figure it all out, I guess.”
Brady nods, slow and several times, his eyes never leaving mine. “I can help you out with that.”
The door closes, and in my peripheral, I see a streak of blond headed right this way. “How?” I rush, my heart rate spiking.
Brady pushes closer, not that there was much more room to go. I’m literally sitting on the edge of the counter, his body still positioned between my legs from when he caught me. Still, he manages to get even closer, and when his knuckle presses against my throat, dragging up until he’s hooked me by the chin, my head falls, my long hair tickling my lower back.
Suddenly his eyes fall, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say they landed on my mouth.
“Brady?” We’re running out of time.
He swallows, and a small frown builds across my brow. “Trust me?” he whispers.
“Always.”
I get no warning. No explanation. No period to process.
The unthinkable, the utterly unexpected happens, and it happens fast.
Heavy, demanding lips drop to mine, and they waste not a second, coaxing them open with a swift flick of the tongue.
And what a hussy my mouth is, opening wide without a word of protest. Suddenly, my hands are around a thick, strong neck, and hands so massive they reach from belt to bra lock around me.
Our tongues tangle, my fingers jealous of the action and seeking the tips of his hair to do the same thing, but I never make it past the nape.
He’s shoved from the side, but he’s massive and pure muscle. He doesn’t budge an inch—he simply lifts his head, and my eyes are locked on his face, shock setting in at the sight of his swollen lips when he says, “Do you mind?”
Oh my god, those are Brady’s lips. Those are Brady’s lips because this is Brady before me, and they’re swollen from my kiss.
Our kiss.
“What the hell is going on?” This comes from Alister, and the question might be for me, but I’ve got no words. Only thoughts.