Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 149982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 750(@200wpm)___ 600(@250wpm)___ 500(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 750(@200wpm)___ 600(@250wpm)___ 500(@300wpm)
“I—” Sulli starts to reply when Orion barks up at her. “Alright, I’ll find your mom. Sit, sit.” He plants his ass on the ground, tail swishing back and forth. She nods towards the stairs. “You remember where the library is?”
The meeting. I realize I’m hard-core stalling, and my chest knots. “Yeah.” I already know this is going to end badly.
Because I didn’t bring Oscar’s clothes with me.
Not sure why I purposefully left them at my apartment. I’m still trying to work through that in my head.
And I have about twenty seconds to figure it out.
Fantastic, dude.
Here we go.
Heading to the library, two more of Jane & Thatcher’s cats dart at my ankles. They figure-eight between my legs, and I try not to trip. As soon as I reach the door—like they know this is a big deal for me—they scamper away quickly.
I enter.
Mahogany floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line the walls, reminiscent of stately, old collegiate libraries like Oxford. Plush chairs are pushed into a long wooden reading table. Green stained-glass lamps sit on the surface, and so does Oscar Oliveira.
Yale tee loose with gym shorts, his hair is damp like he spent 7 a.m. doing chin-ups and arm curls. Would’ve joined him. Not that he’s invited me often to work out, but I just thought maybe…
What did you think, dude?
That you were friends?
No.
That’s not it, and I boil up in multiple ways, especially as I graze his beautiful features, his masculinity that’s been fueling raw, untamed desire inside me.
Oscar looks up from his cell and his eyes sweep me from head-to-toe quickly. His brows furrow. “You forget something, Long Beach?”
His clothes.
I lock gazes, not shying away. “You said you wanted to talk,” I remind him, skirting over his question.
He nods towards the door. “Close that.”
I nudge it closed with my palm.
Oscar sets the cell beside him, giving me his full attention. “We need to talk about Paris,” he says plainly.
I want to ask him which part? On the plane—when he saw my hard-on after I woke up from a sex dream about him? The time where he was hit on in front of me at the museum? Or when Charlie stripped down to his underwear in public?
Instead of asking, I just nod and let out a simple, “Sure.”
His brows knit together. “You’re not at all concerned that Charlie wants to set us up?”
That.
I lean back, resting my shoulder blades against the door, and I thread my arms loosely. I hoped we’d talk about us, but now that it’s here, I feel more unbalanced. Nerves flame my body. The only way to combat the feeling is to act cool. Calm. Chill like I’m on the beach ready to hit the water.
My chin moves from left to right. “Not really.”
He steeples his fingers at the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Of course, you wouldn’t,” he says gruffly. “This doesn’t really affect you, does it?”
I stiffen. “What is that supposed to mean?” I feel very affected by the prospect of a romantic set-up with Oscar. I’ve barely slept in the past two weeks! I keep thinking about him.
I can’t stop thinking about him.
He waves a hand at me. “Nothing changes for you, bro,” he says angrily. “You’re just happily riding this fucked-up train where I’m being set-up with the guy who rejected me. I mean—what in the ever-loving hell?”
My chest rises and falls heavily. Pressure mounting. “You think I’m happy right now?”
“You’re not exactly upset,” he counters.
“I’m not upset,” I admit. “Okay. I’m not. But I’m…” My tongue grows thick in my mouth.
“Willing to do whatever for this show,” Oscars says, thinking he’s finished my thought.
“No…yes…” I feel lost in my own head. I hold up a hand. “Can we rewind for one second?”
Oscar hops off the table. “Look, you’re a good guy, Highland. I’m willing to go ahead and put myself in an uncomfortable situation for your goals, but I just need you to know I’m not going to be playing into your flirting—or whatever you want to fucking call it—anymore.” His stride is strong as he approaches the door, the one I’m leaning against. “This is strictly professional between us.” He stops inches from me. “And I want my goddamn clothes back.”
My heart is beating out of my fucking ribcage. A scorch swallows me whole like he just set the library on fire. His jaw. It tightens. Clenches down. I crave to feel the sharp angle against my palm.
I crave so much with him that I never thought I would or could.
“Are you going to move?” he growls.
I don’t move, except for my fingers that weave through my hair. And my hand stays rooted on my head.
“Jack.” His eyes redden, almost glass with emotion and frustration that I’m causing. He tries to reach around me to the doorknob.
I sidestep and block him, and Oscar stops and shakes his head, looking as torn up as I feel. “Jack. Did you hear what I said? I can’t do this anymor—”