Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
There's not enough softness.
Or maybe he doesn't share it with me.
It's really none of my business, but that doesn't stop me from diving deeper, in my head.
The guy is so tightly wound. Is he a control freak in the bedroom too?
There isn't good research on whether or not uptight people are into domination. The anecdotes tell us the opposite—the executive who goes to a Chinatown sex dungeon to submit to his mistress—but the real research is lacking.
In his day job, he's a lawyer, which means he's obsessed with rules and justice.
So in his sex life, he's probably—
Really fucking hot.
Uh…
Next topic.
The trip. We're heading to Las Vegas for a family friend's joint bachelor party (the grooms are celebrating together). It's a weird bonding ritual. Why do we celebrate weddings with strip clubs anyway?
"How many exotic revues do you think we're attending tonight?" I ask.
The question echoes through the car. It interrupts the quiet conversation up front. It pulls Cassie from her daydreams.
My best friend laughs of course that's your question. I'm as much of a parody of myself as she is. I bring everything to sex. She brings everything to music.
"Zack is planning the party," Cassie says.
"So a hundred," Jackson finishes.
Their younger brother Zack is a major instigator. No doubt, he's planning something to embarrass all of us.
He and their younger sister, Laurel, are already in Sin City. They arrived a few days early to celebrate solo with the grooms.
They're closer to the pair than we are.
We're more, well, obligatory invites. Honestly, I haven't seen the groom in ages. And I haven't met his fiancé. That's one of the great and horrible things about having popular parents.
Their friends' kids still invite us to all their celebrations. Weddings, baby showers, birthday parties, oh my.
"A strip show isn't wild enough for Zack," Cassie says. "He's probably taking us to an orgy."
"You wouldn't go to an orgy," Damon says to his girlfriend.
"And you would?" Cassie laughs.
"I would," I say, without thinking.
Cassie laughs.
My brother clears his throat.
Through the rearview mirror, Jackson makes eye contact. "It is a prime research opportunity." There's something in his voice. A teasing tone. I think.
It's hard to tell with him. The guy's wit is drier than white wine.
It almost feels like flirting.
No, it does feel like flirting.
Is that possible? I try to examine his expression, but he's a whole row away. I can't see his face. I can't see his green eyes or his brown hair or his strong nose or the tattoo on his chest, the one he got with Cassie—
Why is that so sexy? A man who cares about his family?
I guess it's primal. A man who takes care of his sister will also take care of his future children. Even though I'm looking for a fling, I can't fight the hard-wired desires in my brain.
Symmetry.
Shoulder-hip ratio.
Signs of good genes. Strength. Intelligence. Competence.
Jackson is a strong, capable man who provides and keeps me safe.
Of course, the glasses shouldn't make him more appealing. That's a genetic deficiency. Poor eyesight.
But they're so sexy. As sexy as the serious look he always wears.
Well—
Uh—
All these ideas of why we're attracted to certain things are theories. We know certain traits, like symmetry, are attractive across cultures, so we know there's a biological basis. We don't know why there's a biological basis or what it means.
"Prime opportunity to observe voyeurs and exhibitionists," Damon agrees. There's something in his tone too, but ew, gross—
That is way, way too much information about my brother's sex life.
Of course, my brain ignores the very sensible ew, that's my brother and jumps right to the compelling question.
What does it say about his and Cassie's personalities? How does a taste for voyeurism or exhibitionism match or contrast with their values?
They're a songwriting team. Behind-the-scenes talent. They write words and music for other people to perform.
So they fill their need to perform another way.
Or maybe it's in a relationship with Cassie's obsession with authenticity. A way to find the authenticity she craves (and sometimes lacks in her job writing for others). Or a way to say fuck authenticity and put on a show.
Maybe it's both at the same time.
Or maybe one or both of them like to watch. That would fit with what they do all day—watch each other perform, watch artists perform, craft performances.
That's the romance novel idea of sex. The billionaire is a boss in the boardroom and the bedroom.
It's not wrong either. There's plenty of anecdotal information to support the hypothesis.
The photographer who loves sending sexy snapshots. The artist who performs everywhere. The researcher desperate to discover her paramour's desires.
"Flirt after the drive," Jackson says.
Right. They shouldn't flirt in front of us. That's rude.
Just like how I shouldn't picture Cassie's brother naked while I'm sitting next to her.
"Oh, I know," Cassie teases her brother, "we can talk about music instead. Best bachelor party songs. Go."