Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
My eyes widen. “You do not.”
“Oh, I do. A contract that binds Julia Brooks to me in marriage when I turn twenty-five? Like I’d ever lose that. Hell fucking no.”
He tucks it back into his pocket like a treasure map.
And I laugh.
Because somehow, in a room full of boisterous people who love us…being with Ace feels like the calmest, happiest place I’ve ever been.
Saturday, November 8th
Ace
The Double C after party is still raging when I duck out the side door of Perkins—otherwise known as the history building—and head to the nearest subway stop.
I don’t even pretend to be sorry that the prez of Double C is leaving his own after party.
But that’s because my girl is at home with a migraine, and ever since she said she felt too sick to go to the Double C event tonight, I’ve been busy checking in on her every hour on the hour. Sometimes every half hour, to be honest.
Julia’s been sick maybe four times in the entire time I’ve known her, and even then, she refused to miss school. So, yeah, I’m concerned. Hell, she practically had to shove me out of her apartment to make me come to Double C tonight, reminding me that I’m the one in charge and I have to be there.
But I stayed as long as I needed to stay, and I’m currently in the elevator, headed up to our floor, texting as I lean against the mirrored wall.
Me: You up?
It only takes a second before her response pings.
Julia: Yes. Come to your apartment.
She’s in my apartment?
My brows pinch as I shove my phone into my pocket and walk the short stretch down the hall.
And the second I unlock the door and step inside, I know something’s up. The lights are dim, the room smells faintly like vanilla, and right there, perched in the center of my leather couch like a perfectly wrapped gift, is Julia.
Wearing nothing but my black Hermès tie.
It’s tied loosely around her neck, barely brushing the tops of her thighs, and her legs are open. Her hair’s a sexy mess of wild curls, and she’s smiling at me like she already knows she’s going to wreck me tonight.
Oh fuck me, I love this woman.
She leans back on her elbows, lifts her chin, and with a perfectly smug little smirk, says, “How was your day, dear?”
My jaw drops. Not because I don’t get it, but because I do—instantly.
I bark out a laugh. “Nice tie.”
She grins. “Thanks. I got it for you.”
“Yeah?”
She nods and giggles. “Straight from your closet.”
God, I’m obsessed with this girl. Fully, completely, can’t-see-straight obsessed.
“You’re quoting Pretty Woman.” I start walking toward her slowly, like she’s something sacred and I’m not sure I’m worthy.
She shrugs one bare shoulder. “It’s your favorite.”
“It’s one of my favorites,” I correct, pausing right in front of her. “Not the favorite.”
“You’ve made me watch it five hundred times.”
“And you’ve argued with me five hundred times that it’s not a rom-com.”
“Because it’s not, Ace.”
“It literally is.”
She purses her lips. “There’s prostitution and trauma.”
“There are also shopping montages and a happy ending. Classic rom-com formula, Lia.”
She rolls her eyes, but her smile says she loves this. Loves me. God, I’m a lucky bastard.
“Also…” She pauses, and her voice drops to this sexy, seductive tone. “I have a confession to make.”
“Yeah?” I sink to my knees between her thighs, breath catching as I finally let myself touch her—only her knees at first, brushing slow circles over her skin with my thumbs.
“I didn’t have a migraine.”
My eyebrows rise. “No?”
She shakes her head, and the tie shifts slightly, barely grazing the perfect pink of each of her nipples. “I had plans.”
I grin. “To do another reenactment of one of my favorite rom-coms?”
“Something like that,” she says, wicked glint in her eye. “I mean, the lead actress is named Julia.”
I laugh, but it’s a strained kind of sound because I’m not just worked up. I’m reverent. I’m fucking floored. I’m so goddamn grateful that she’s mine.
And when I lower my mouth to her, tasting her, devouring her, worshiping her, I do it like a man who’s been starving for years and finally gets to eat.
She moans. Her head falls back. Her thighs tighten around my shoulders.
And me? I think this is what heaven tastes like.
Wednesday, November 12th
Julia
McKinley Library is nearly silent, except for the low hum of the ceiling lights and the occasional squeak of someone’s sneaker on the tile floor. Ace is slouched in the chair across from me at one of the back study tables, a pencil stuck behind his ear, one hand tangled in his hair, and absolutely no clue what I’m talking about.
“For the third time,” I say, tapping my pen on his notebook, “if you increase the angle of the incline, the parallel component of gravitational force increases too.”