Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Suspicious and suspicious-er.
"Okay, well, I have no idea what book you're talking about because it could be five hundred different ones. If you could give me anything to work with, I could maybe help you figure it out, but with no title or author and a vague plot, I've got nothing but questions."
"Shoot."
"What?" I startle.
"You have questions. Shoot."
"Uh…"
The way he smirks does things it shouldn't. "I'll make you a deal," he says. "If you have dinner with me tonight, I'll answer your questions."
I must be losing it because I hesitate. I actually hesitate like I'm considering going to dinner with the maybe-a-serial-killer next door.
You are your own worst enemy, Olive Medlock.
"Sorry, I can't," I mutter. "I have to wash my hair."
He splutters laughter. "You have to wash your hair."
"Yes," I lie. "It's a whole process. Takes all night."
"Uh-huh." He takes a step toward me, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "And I bet if I ask you about tomorrow, you'll have to shave then, right, Rebel?"
"Exactly!" I breathe, tangled up in his gaze even though I absolutely shouldn't be. I've listened to podcasts and watched all the true crime shows. This is absolutely how unsuspecting women end up sleeping with evil. I'm going to be a statistic.
His lips quirk into a grin so beautiful, my heart starts racing. He steps right up in front of me, so damn close I smell his cologne. "You should really stick to stealing mail, baby," he rumbles. "You're better at it than you are at lying."
"I'm not lying."
"Yeah, you are." He leans down, running his nose along the side of my jaw. His beard scratches at my skin in the most delicious way, and it takes every ounce of restraint I have not to whimper. "That's okay, though, Rebel. One day soon, you'll agree to give me a chance."
"I'm a nun."
He freezes, his lips against my cheek. The way he laughs against my skin? Good God. I want him to do that when his face is between my legs. "A nun, huh?"
"I mean, I don't date." Yes, that's better than whatever nonsense I just said. A nun? Jesus Christ, Olive.
"Pity," he breathes, nuzzling my skin. "Because I'd fucking kill to date you."
There's that word again—kill.
He takes a step back, his gorgeous blue eyes meeting mine for a moment. "See you later, baby."
"Yep," I squeak. "Later."
He saunters from the store like he doesn't have a care in the world, leaving me clinging to the shelf like it's the only thing holding me up. I'm pretty sure it is.
"What the hell?" Sarah cries, materializing from around the corner. "He asked you out, and you said no?"
I blink at her, trying to get my mind back in order. "Uh…yes?"
"You've lost it," she says, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "You've completely lost it."
I'm not sure which is worse…the fact that I think she's right, or the fact that I'm beginning to think dating the serial-killer-next-door might not be so terrible.
"You know what you need?" Sarah asks, shaking her head at me like she's royally disappointed.
"A stakeout."
She blinks, caught off guard. "That is not even in the realm of things I was going to suggest," she mutters. "I was going to suggest therapy."
"Whatever. A stakeout sounds like more fun for me," I retort.
"Yeah, right up until Mason finds you watching him, decides you've lost your mind, and rescinds his request for a date."
"He followed me first. It's only fair for me to return the favor. And if I happen to find that he's a serial killer, then I'll be a hero." I smirk at her. "I'll be sure to mention you in the articles they write about me."
The bell over the door chimes before she can come up with a suitable response. Lilah and Jazz hurry into the store, bickering back and forth.
"Hey," Lilah says, breathing hard. "Sorry, I'm late again. Lincoln wouldn't…you know what? Never mind."
"He had her tied to the bed," Jazz says, smirking like the cat that ate the canary as she sashays toward the counter in four-inch heels and a miniskirt.
"Oh my god," Lilah growls at her best friend. "He did not have me tied to the bed."
"Stop ruining it for me, Lilah. I'm trying to live vicariously through you since the man currently starring in my fantasies is the world's grouchiest author." Jazz tosses her hair over her shoulder with a sniff. "If I want to believe he ties you to the bed every night and has his filthy, billionaire way with you, then it's your job as my best friend to let me keep believing that."
"He only ties me up sometimes," Lilah mumbles.
Jazz spins midstep, squealing. "I knew it!"
Lilah turns beet red before giggling. "Can we please stop talking about my sex life now?"
"Hell no. Unless and until one of us is getting tied to the bed and railed regularly, you're the only one here who has a sex life," Jazz retorts. "Who else are we going to talk about? Loralei doesn't even have a sex life."