Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
I swallow blow-job coach, instead flashing a smile at the man frowning into my window.
“Did you miss the sign back there, buddy?” Doesn’t sound like we’re buddies.
“I must have,” I say, contrite.
He flaps an arm toward said sign. “It did say slow down. We do work here.”
And I am an asshole. “I know. I’m so sorry.”
He peers through the open window again, all business. “No one was hurt, but maybe it’s time for you to stop texting and driving, ya hear me?”
I wasn’t texting. I was racing to have my dick sucked.
I give him an apologetic smile. “Yes, sir. I will.”
Briefly, I weigh what to say next. Obviously, I deserve the reprimand, but I also need to know whether to turn around and go back the way we came or drive around those cones up ahead.
Then, my own voice fills the car.
“And this is your host Monroe Blackstone right along with Juliet Dumont on—”
What the heck? That’s our last episode of the podcast. Juliet jumps to stab the end button on the display. “My bad, sorry!”
The construction worker whips off his shades, studies me, studies her. Then, in slow motion, his frown turns upside down. “Oh man! Seriously? Seriously? It’s Heartbreakers and Matchmakers in the flesh?” He taps his chest. “Big fan of the pod. And I’m telling you, I called it.” He’s punching the air triumphantly. “I can’t wait to tell my woman.”
I’ve never been recognized. Based on the way Juliet’s jaw is hanging open—a good look—she hasn’t either.
“That’s great! We’re so happy you like the show,” she says, quickly recovering.
He points at her excitedly. “We placed bets, too, on the poet date last week.” He curls his hands around the open window. “What happened with Mister Likes to Discuss Song Lyrics and Grapes? Was it a combo date? An extend-a-date? Gimme the tea.”
A laugh bursts from Juliet. “He told me I was too old. Even though I’m only thirty and he was over forty.”
The construction worker flubs his lips. “What a dick.”
“I know, right,” she says, so good with people. “But, tell the truth—did you bet against me?”
He sets his hand on his chest. “No way. Honestly, Dara and I both bet on you. You’re the reason we’re together,” he adds, sweetly.
I tilt my head. “Is that so?”
His smile is endless, but he has no interest in me. His appreciation is for Juliet. “She is such a fangirl of your dating approach. She said your future is bright attitude is why she gave me a chance. So thank you. Seriously, thank you,” he says with the kind of generosity that comes from the top and bottom of his heart.
“I’m so happy for you…” She pauses for his name.
“Dash,” he supplies.
“As in short for Dashiell?” I sputter out.
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but pretend you don’t know that. The only other Dashiell I know is this brewer dude in town. Real nice guy. I’m on his softball team.”
Talk about a small town.
“Dash is a good name, then,” Juliet offers.
Dash looks from the passenger to me. “Thanks, and I am so stoked to find you’re a couple in real life. You’ve always had crazy chemistry on the pod.”
Ah, hell. Do I tell him the truth now? If I lie and he finds out we fibbed, that’d be bad for our reputation. But we look like we’re together.
“Actually,” Juliet cuts in with the save, “Monroe is acting as my dating coach.”
Dash knits his brow. “Didn’t know you were a coach too, doc. But that tracks.” His tone, though, is downtrodden. “But I definitely got a vibe from the two of you.”
Well, shit. I do not want to lead a fan astray. “We went go-karting. We had a great time. We were sort of…”
I turn to Juliet, and her cheeks are still flush from the make-out session. “Practice dating,” she adds cheerily.
“But, it’s for an upcoming segment,” I say, “so if you could keep it on the down-low…”
Dash mimes zipping his lips. “Thanks for the insider tip.” There’s a considering pause, then he drums his palms on the roof of the car. “All right. Now listen, if you turn around and make a left onto Cedar Lane, that should loop back around past the construction site. But I do not—hear me now—I do not want to find out you were speeding again. Drive nice and slow. Take your time. There’s no rush.”
I nod like a good boy. “That’s excellent advice.”
“And I can’t wait for that segment.”
He slips his shades back on, and his smile burns off. “Drive safely. I mean it.”
Then he’s gone, and Juliet turns to me, lifting a brow. “You are a bad boy.”
“Just you wait.”
Ten minutes later, I swing open the door to our temporary home, and once it shuts, I meet her gaze and say in a low rumble, “The coach is in the house. Now tell me what you’ve disliked about blow jobs.”