Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
“Earth to Dallas…”
“Huh?” I look up at Ryann, lost in my own thoughts.
“I said, what’s so special about this trophy that it’s the only one you have in your room?”
Shrugging, I walk to the other side of the room and stand next to the bookshelf. “Guess it’s because that’s the first trophy I ever got. You always remember your first.”
First win.
First trophy.
First kiss.
First fuck.
Some of them are special for other reasons, ha!
“How is it that we keep getting off subject?” Now she’s fiddling with the pens and pencils in a ceramic coffee mug on my desk—I don’t drink coffee, but for whatever reason, a friend gave it to me one Christmas.
“Sorry if I offended you using facts and logic.” Ryann reads the quote on the side out loud. “Whoever gave you this knows you well.”
Why does it feel like we’re suddenly in close quarters?
Is it hot in here?
What’s the thermostat set at?
Strolling to the bed, I sit on the end of it while Ryann touches all my personal shit, with zero regard for my space or privacy.
“You look so serious.” Ryann spins the chair so we’re eye to eye, then randomly decides to unzip the jacket and peel it from her body.
Hangs it on the back of my chair as if she’ll be staying a while.
Lord help me if my eyes don’t travel from her face to her neck to her chest.
Tight white long-sleeved shirt, so tight I can see the outline of her bra beneath it, the decent-sized tits.
What the fuck.
Ryann stands, readjusts herself, tucks one leg under her ass when she sits back down, looking mighty comfortable, tits bouncing the entire time she’s getting situated.
Of course they are.
Great tits.
Small waist.
Long dark hair.
Freckles.
Fuck my life. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.
Not a good idea? Are you kidding me right now? You have a job to do, Son, and no woman is going to stand in the way of that—especially one you don’t give a shit about.
My father’s voice echoes in my mind, words I heard him say to my older brother over and over until it was ingrained in not just Duke’s mind but mine as well.
Ryann’s hands hit the top of her knees. “Okay, down to business. I have studying to do tonight, and I’m sure you do, too.”
“Yeah.” Not really. “I already told you I need someone to be my cover.”
“Your beard.” She winks. “Got it.”
“No. Not my beard.” What the hell is her problem? “I’m not in the closet.”
“It was a metaphor.” I can see her holding back; she’s tempted to roll her eyes but, for once, refrains. “Chill.”
I’ve been told to chill before, but never by a woman, and never one sitting in my own damn house, twirling and spinning in my desk chair as if my entire body wasn’t vibrating with nerves and tension and whatever else this feeling is in the pit of my stomach.
Hunger, probably.
“Anyway.” I glare at her. “I figure it can’t be that difficult. We’ll go out in public a few times, let people take pictures of us. I can get you tickets to a game if you want.”
Ryann nods. “That works.” Squints at me. “I needed to come over for you to tell me this? You could have texted me this information.”
My mouth opens.
Closes.
“I figured you would be a hard sell and I’d have to do a song and dance to get you to agree.”
Ryann yawns. “The fact that I’m even here should be telling. As if I don’t have other things I could be doing, like picking up an extra shift at work.”
“You said you have to study.”
“Right. Only because I’m here. Otherwise I could have picked up an extra shift at work and then gone home to study.”
I don’t believe her but whatever.
“One thing I did want to circle back around on was…” Ryann crosses her long legs. “You said I wasn’t getting anything out of this, and we both know that’s bullshit.”
“I’m not allowed to pay you.”
“Who said anything about being paid? Don’t insult me.”
I didn’t think she was the type to toss her hair, but here she is, throwing it over her shoulder, affronted by my mention of money changing hands.
“You have to do better than that.”
What is she talking about? “I’m not sleeping with you.”
I mean, I could.
She’s not horrible to look at and I haven’t fucked in a really long time (three months at least), so sleeping with her in exchange for—
“Are you trying to make me barf?” She laughs, uncrossing her legs. “Be serious for a second.”
I thought I was.
“The thought of sex with me makes you want to barf?”
What the actual fuck. Never in my damn life have I ever had—
“Kind of. You’re not exactly my type.”
Ryann Winters is so full of shit right now. I can’t believe she can sit there and say that with a straight face. Not her type my ass. I’m everyone’s fucking type!