Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
“That’s great.” I can’t scrub the crazy thoughts from my mind. “It sounds like a fun time.”
“Your name is always on the VIP list,” he reminds me. I’m not really the “partying” type, so I don’t hang out at his nightclub very much, but he always makes sure I know I’m welcome anytime. “Come by and see for yourself.”
“Thanks,” I scrunch up my nose, “but I don’t think a bachelorette auction is my cup of tea.” Unless I’m up for auction—just for him.
He flashes a quick grin that turns my insides to goo, then looks down to check his watch. His handsome face turns serious. “Fuck. I’m gonna be late.” He pushes back his chair and rises, all rigid lines and expensive suit, practically towering over the table like he’s posing for a statue.
My heart does a weird little tripwire dance. I don’t know if he even notices the effect he has on people, but he pockets his phone, grabs his coffee, and leans down until his mouth is only inches from my ear.
“Don’t forget. I’m coming by Sunday night. You, me, Chinese, and at least two hours of trash TV.” He winks before I can even process the words, then strides out, leaving nothing behind but a trace of expensive cologne and my entire nervous system in meltdown.
I’m so gone for this man, it’s pathetic.
But the auction idea? It’s still lingering, sticky and dangerous. Maybe if I signed up, Nathan would finally see me. Not as his cinnamon-roll-obsessed sidekick, but as a woman who wants him with every cell in her body. Maybe. Or maybe I’d just humiliate myself in front of the entire freaking town and die alone, remembered only as “that girl who tripped off the stage at Midnight Mischief.”
Ugh. I finish my coffee in three desperate gulps while my thoughts spin. For some reason, I can’t get the idea of signing up for the bachelorette auction out of my mind.
By the time I stumble into my apartment, my thoughts are whirling so fast, I can barely get the key in the lock. I drop my purse, toe off my flats, and flop onto the ancient couch with all the grace of a dying walrus. I don’t even bother to turn on the lights. I just dig my phone out, jam Dee’s name, and pray she picks up before I lose my nerve.
She answers on the second ring, voice already loud and bossy. “This better be good, because I’m in the middle of finding my black push-up bra and you know how much I hate being late for the Friday freak show at Mischief.” I can literally hear her hunting through laundry in the background. “Talk fast, Roni. I’ve got eyeliner on one eye, and Eamon’s already texting me like a psycho.”
I sit back against the soft cushion and sigh. “Sorry. I just needed to talk to someone going through what I am.” Dee’s been in love with Eamon forever, but he only sees her as his faithful sidekick, so she feels my pain. “You won’t believe how good he looked today, DeeDee. Like, if an Armani catalog and a Greek god had a baby.”
She cackles, not even pretending to be subtle. “I’d believe it. I’ve seen that man in a suit, remember?” There’s a clatter on her end, like she’s turned her laundry basket upside down. “So, what’s going on? Spill. If there’s even a one percent chance that you’re finally gonna tell him you want to ride him like a mechanical bull, I need a play-by-play.”
I stare at the ceiling, just picturing Nathan’s jawline. “You’re insane. He literally called me ‘Roni Roo’ and told me not to skip lunch.”
There’s a weird, breathless silence on the other end of the call. Then Dee makes a choking noise, like she just aspirated her caffeine. “Roni, the man is obsessed with feeding you. That’s, like, page one in the secret boyfriend manual.”
I roll my eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t pop out of my head. “Or, you know, he’s just a functioning adult who doesn’t want his friends fainting from low blood sugar.”
“Bitch, please.” Dee’s voice is pure evil now, syrupy sweet and smug. “That’s how it starts. First, he’s making sure you eat. Next, he’s getting territorial. You ever notice how he acts when other people flirt with you?”
I let out an unladylike snort. “No one flirts with me, Dee. Last week, a DoorDash driver called me ‘ma’am’ and told me to ‘have a blessed evening.”
Dee loses it, laughter bouncing around like a pinball. “You’re a damn mess, you know that? But enough boo-hooing about your tragic dating life. I’m signing you up for the auction.”
Oh. My. God. My stomach drops so fast I almost groan. “Wait! I’m not exactly Miss Midnight Mischief material, Dee.”
She snorts. “Please. You’re so freaking gorgeous. Stop being so hard on yourself. I’m going to tell Eamon to put you on the list, and I’ll make sure he forgets to tell Nathan about it.”