Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 196(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 196(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I find him wildly attractive. So what if he stars in more than a few of my fantasies? That doesn't mean I like him. I just like looking at him. There's a difference.
If I keep telling myself that, one day, it'll be true, right?
Right.
"You look extra cranky tonight," I say. At least, that's what I intend to say. I think I actually say, "Hey, Cranky Bear."
He slowly turns in my direction, his gaze running down my body. For a moment, I forget to breathe. Every inch of him is hard and disgruntled, but there's this softness in his green eyes that always catches me off guard. It makes him way more beautiful than I'm ever prepared to deal with.
"Hattie," he rumbles, his lips pursed behind his beard. "Did you just call me a cranky bear?"
"What? No. I said you look extra cranky tonight," I lie. "But the music is loud. You probably misheard."
"I'm sure that's it." His gaze runs down my body again, lingering on my boobs for a moment before he pointedly turns his head, staring across the room. I think he's looking at a supermodel, and a little part of me wants to sink through the floor.
I know I'm not everyone's cup of tea—or anyone's, really. Most women grow into their curves. My body missed that memo. I'm just short and round everywhere. It doesn't usually bother me, but not gonna lie, sometimes, being the last girl on the planet that men want to date sucks.
It's not even like Sidney is my type or anything. I cannot deal with a hot, cranky giant. But still. What girl doesn't want to be irresistible to a hunk of a man with muscles for days at least once in her life?
I take another big gulp of whatever the hell is in my cup. "I heard you drew the short straw."
"What?"
"The short straw. You're the best man."
"Oh." Sidney pushes a hand through his dark hair, his long fingers ruffling strands, and looks at me like he's still trying to figure out how the hell he got roped into that. "Yeah, that's me."
"Cool. I need you to save my life," I blurt.
"Uh…" His gaze runs across me again. "You look good to me, butterfly."
Butterfly. Oh, I like that.
"I'm really not," I whisper.
For some reason, that seems to worry him. He gets serious fast, standing up straight, his eyes glued to me. "What's wrong? What do you need?"
This is it. This is the moment.
"Date me."
His brows pull together, his expression going from concerned to confused and then back. "Either you have a head injury, or I'm hearing shit. I thought you said—"
"I did. I need you to date me."
"What the fuck?" He narrows his eyes, glancing around. For some reason, he looks pissed. "Did Tye put you up to this? Tell him to fuck off with his jokes."
"It's not a joke!" I grab his arm before he can slide past me. "I need you, Sidney. Otherwise, my life is over."
He glances down at my hand on his arm and then up at my face. "Let me see your cup."
I immediately hold it out to him.
He takes it, lifting it to his lips. My clit absolutely does not twitch when he places his lips in the exact spot where my lipstick stains the cup, taking a sip.
After a second, he grunts, lowering the cup. "Vodka," he growls, his eyes coming back to me.
"Oh. Is that what that is?"
"How many of these have you had, Hattie?"
"Just one."
"Uh-huh. Try again."
"Fine, two."
"You're drunk."
I hold my thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart because, yeah, I probably am. I don't ever drink, and I feel braver than usual right now. But that doesn't change the facts. "I'm serious, Sidney. I need you to date me or my life is over."
He stares at me for so long, I begin to think that maybe he's drunk too. Or maybe he just tuned me out. And then he gives his head a sharp shake, sighing so loud I'm sure the angels in heaven hear it.
"Come on," he growls, sliding one arm around my waist. "Let's go."
"Go? Where are we going?"
"I'm taking you home, baby. Before you ask some other asshole to date you and they're stupid enough to agree."
Oh. Ouch. Would dating me really be that terrible?
Judging by the look on his face…yes, yes, it would.
"Maybe I'll just stay here," I say, trying to slip free of his grip.
"No." He hauls me closer, his expression stony. "I'm getting you out of here. Your brother will flip the fuck out if he sees you like this. He's got enough on his plate right now."
"Then he shouldn't have given me alcohol," I grumble, still trying to wriggle free, but it's no use. Honestly. Why can't football players be normal-sized?