Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
A flowing sense of euphoria and relief has me walking faster. The chance encounter has robbed me of my cynicism—briefly. Let’s not get crazy—and I’m as light as a feather. I can’t wait to…tell Tobias. Did I really just think those words? Yes. Yes, I did. But I’m too hopeful to care. Banks is going to see his mother at the game. The happiness I desperately want him to feel is kicking inside of me now, trying to burst from my throat.
That’s when I see Tobias up ahead.
He’s behind the counter of the portable bar on wheels.
There are two plastic cups in his hands and he’s shaking them overhead, loudly rattling the ice inside. Several attendants in red shirts are standing around, watching him work with rapt attention. “The secret to a good martini is the quality of the ingredients, of course. But often overlooked is the temperature, lads. No one wants warm vodka. Only ice cold—” He sees me coming and his occupied hands drop to the counter. “And just where have you been?”
My smile stretches before I can stop it.
Mayday. Mayday.
Please send emergency assistance.
I officially like Tobias.
And no sooner do I watch him realize it that he’s handing off the makeshift martini maker and coming toward me with enough sensual purpose to render even the smartest girl stupid.
It’s me. I’m that girl.
Chapter Seventeen
Tobias
* * *
You’re behaving like a twat.
Honestly. Sweating bullets because she’s not back in time for the match to resume?
She didn’t leave, did she? Of course not. Ghost me?
I was once ordained the Jesus of Sex by The International Adult Film Corporation. I even have that title stitched on the back of my bathrobe at home. Not that I want Elise to see it. Might just toss that robe out with the rubbish next week, come to think of it. Time for a new one.
Elise is about twenty meters away from me and I’m fairly certain she wants to fuck. She has these enchanting rose spots on her cheeks and she’s taken off her sweater, so I’m privy to the outline of her nipples against her tank top. Wherever she went during halftime, she’s come back liking me. Against all odds. She’s smiling at me, for fuck’s sake.
Don’t fuck her.
There it is again. My brain playing tricks on me. I could have sworn it just told me not to fuck the dark-haired goddess who is finally giving me the green light.
Don’t fuck her yet.
Okay, slightly better. I can work with a yet. That might just mean…wait five minutes before banging her so hard we time travel and end up in ancient Egypt. Right?
I’m going to throw away the robe.
It’s not like I can hide what I’ve done in the past. I’m not ashamed that I made a fortune in the adult film industry. After all, I got out before it broke me completely—and that is a feat many don’t accomplish. I got out before they succeeded in addicting me to pills that kept me hard far longer than is natural. Seeing the darkest side of the job early on saved my life. Kept me from going down a path of cocaine and off-set depravity.
Perhaps I’m ashamed that I didn’t cop on that I was being taken for a ride, being sold out by my manager behind my back, but I’m not ashamed of who I am or what I’ve done. However. Dear God, I know Elise has watched me on film and I don’t want her to think about any of that when I’m inside of her. The experience between us won’t be the same as a job. It won’t even be in the same fucking universe. Will she believe that? Feel it?
Maybe I’ll burn the robe in my fireplace.
I’ve reached her now and she’s not putting on the brakes.
The overhead light brightens her face like a shaft of light from the heavens and it’s everything I can do not to start praying to her, like she’s some sort of deity.
How does one pray, exactly?
More importantly, how does she grow more beautiful by the day? Is it some kind of magical face cream, because I would like to borrow it. The wrinkles beneath my eyes continue to branch out. Crow’s feet, people call them. Horrific. She must notice them. I’m the oldest of the three men and my past profession makes me the least ideal candidate for a boyfriend, but I can’t stay away from her. I’d actually allow the crow’s feet to triple if she just lets me be a part of this weird four-way relationship. And I’ve been in some weird four-ways, but this one takes the bloody cake.
None of us have had a successful romantic commitment.
Most of us haven’t even participated in a successful orgy. Amateurs.
And none of us know what the fuck we’re doing, except we are in dire need of this girl.