Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
I draw a furtive inhale and once again, he’s my sexy stranger. The man who plus-oned me into an art opening simply to help me, who took me shopping so I wouldn’t feel foolish without pants, who bought me ice cream on our date, who rented a hotel room to fulfill my wish for a one-night stand.
For a second, he seems unsure what to do with my hug, then his strong arms wrap around me. His muscles mold to my body. Images flash wildly through my mind.
His arm locking me into place when he fucked me hard the other night.
His hands on my ass when he went down on me.
His lips coasting over every inch of me, including my belly button ring.
When he breaks the embrace before I do, his eyes drift over my body, stopping at my stomach. Is he remembering my belly button piercing too?
He clears his throat, but he looks…blank, almost stony, as he says, “There you go. Good night.”
He’s gone. Leaving me alone in this room. It’s only when I sit down on the bed that my last words echo.
It’s the first thing that’s gone right for me since I arrived.
I groan. I’ve already insulted my new landlord. I’m the prick.
14
MY WINGWOMAN
Wesley
Saturday morning is now for working out instead of asking out. That’s fine. It’s totally fine. It’s a rest day since we played last night, but cardio’s cool on rest days. So, I hit the gym with Max and Asher, who give me hell from the StairMasters about me saying yes to Christian. If they only knew the whole of it. But I’m not telling them, now or ever.
“Maybe, I dunno, you should offer a room to the coach’s daughter next?” Asher suggests, so fucking helpfully, as we’re leaving the gym on Fillmore Street.
“Don’t forget the owner’s sister too,” Max puts in.
“Mock me for being nice. That’s a real good look,” I say to the two of them as we head up the block, bustling with people pushing strollers and carrying coffee and more babies.
“You’re so sweet, Wesley,” Asher taunts.
“We must protect you at all costs,” Max adds with faux admiration.
After I check that no one’s watching us, I hold my hands out wide, then flip them both double birds. “With friends like you…”
“Friends? Who said we were friends?” Max tilts his head, adopting a confused look.
“News to me,” Asher says with an innocent shrug.
“And on that note, I’m outta here.” I give them a wave and they do the same back, then I take off at a rapid clip. Why walk when I can run? I pop in my earbuds, blasting The Last Shadow Puppets as I near my favorite coffee shop, Doctor Insomnia’s. Does Josie like coffee? Should I grab her one? I bet she likes lattes.
I’m turning toward the chalkboard sign by the door, tendrils of purple steam rising above a chalk drawing of a coffee cup in the same color, when I decide against it. That’s a boyfriend move—not a roomie one.
As I cruise up the street, I get a little lost in the music, but when I turn onto Jackson Street, a strange mix of both dread and excitement builds in my gut. It gets stronger as I near my home.
I don’t like this feeling.
Trouble is, I don’t know how to behave around Josie. Yesterday, when I offered to help Christian, I figured it’d be a “ships passing in the night” kind of deal with his sister. She’d do her thing; I’d do the captain a solid. My parents always taught me to “help out whenever you can.” True, when it comes to my dad with me, he over helps. But Mom had a good sense of balance and still does, so my offer wasn’t so much sucking up as second nature. I wish I could call her and ask her what to do next in this situation since she’s good with people, but she’s been traveling across Asia with her husband. He’s from Vietnam, so they’re doing a connect-with-the-roots type of tour, and I don’t need to bug her.
Too bad that give-a-hand instinct now has me living with my one-night stand who I wanted to date but can’t. The whole situation gives new meaning to the word awkward.
When I reach my home, I bound up the steps, bracing myself for—I don’t even know what I’m walking into.
I barely know Josie.
Plus, she wasn’t awake when I got up. No idea if she’s an ogre in the mornings or an angel. If she bounces around in pink workout pants doing pilates and planks, or shuffles bleary-eyed in jammies and fuzzy socks. Maybe she’ll be wandering around post-shower, a towel cinched around her tits, her wet hair sleek down her back.
I pray it’s not the latter, even though I fucking wish it were the latter. Which sums up my life right now.