Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
As the redhead takes a chair next to the brunette in red, she says something to her that makes both women laugh heartily. And that’s it. I’m transfixed. Watching that woman let loose with a throaty laugh is the sexiest thing I’ve ever witnessed.
“They’re for all these beautiful ladies,” Grayson says.
“Huh?” I wrench my gaze off the redhead to find Grayson gesturing to the shot glasses on his tray. Oh yeah, I asked him about the extra drinks, didn’t I?
Grayson flashes a huge, beaming smile at the women seated next to us. “It’s packed tonight,” he explains, raising his voice to be heard above the din, “and hard to get the bartender’s attention. I figured I’d get a bunch of shots for you ladies, if you’d like them.”
I’m thinking they’re going to turn him down since it’s Safety 101 for women to turn down drinks they haven’t personally witnessed getting poured. But to my surprise, they all express nothing but enthusiastic gratitude for the free booze.
“My pleasure,” Grayson replies. As the women grab shots off Grayson’s tray, he holds out the martini glass to the brunette in red. “I got this vodka martini for you, if you’d like it. I noticed you sitting at the bar earlier, so I asked the bartender to make you another round.”
The brunette looks thoroughly charmed. In fact, she’s batting her eyelashes at him. “Thank you so much . . .” She smirks. “Grayson.”
Grayson’s face lights up. “I knew it!”
Wait. What? Grayson actually knows this woman? No wonder her group accepted drinks from him. Does the redhead know Grayson, too? If so, he’d damned well better introduce me, or I’ll never forgive him.
Speaking of the redhead, I take a peek at her again, curious to see how she’s reacting to Grayson’s tray of drinks. And to my thrill, her eyes are already laser-focused on me. Well, well, well. Hello, there, beautiful.
I quirk an eyebrow, letting her know she’s got my undivided attention. And, hallelujah, she returns the gesture without hesitation. Ha. Love it. This one is definitely no shrinking violet.
“Is this the little friend you told us about, Selena?” the platinum blonde asks the lady in red.
“This is him,” the brunette confirms. “Isn’t he darling?” I wrench my eyes from the staring contest I’m having with the hot redhead to find the brunette in red looking Grayson up and down. “But he’s not so little, is he?” It’s true. Grayson is six-two, I think. Only a couple inches shorter than me. With a laugh, the brunette rises, gives Grayson an enthusiastic hug, and purrs, “Hello, Grayson.”
What’s going on? If I’m a “little boy” at thirty in my designer suit, then what does that make Grayson at twenty-five in a pair of khakis? But whatever. It’s all good. I’ve never had any trouble attracting women, while Grayson seems pretty hopeless and hapless at it, God love him. So, if tonight’s his lucky night, then more power to him . . . just as long as he stays far, far away from the redhead who’s got my full attention.
Speaking of the object of my lust, I return to her, eager to continue our nonverbal flirting match, but she’s engaged in an animated conversation with one of her friends—the ice-cold blonde. As I’m watching the pair converse, I chuckle to myself at the redhead’s animated storytelling. Whatever she’s saying, she’s gesticulating wildly while doing it. She’s comfortable in her own skin, that one. Charismatic and magnetic to the extreme. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever laid eyes on anyone who’s quite this compelling at first blush.
As I’m still watching the redhead gesticulating, movement at my table draws my attention. When I turn, I find the brunette in red taking a seat next to Grayson. Well, I’ll be damned. Shy Grayson successfully made a move on the brunette, even before I’ve made a move on the redhead? Good for him.
“How on earth did you figure me out?” the brunette asks Grayson with a laugh. “There are plenty of women around my age at the bar tonight.”
Grayson is smiling like a goofball—like he’s been picked first on the playground for Dodgeball. “I recognized you the second I saw you,” he declares. When the brunette rolls her eyes, he chuckles and adds, “Not physically, obviously. It was your energy. Your confidence. You were everything I imagined Hot Teacher would be, and then some.”
“Hot Teacher?” I mumble, intrigued. But not surprisingly, nobody acknowledges my outburst. Fine with me. I return my attention to the redhead again, and this time, she’s looking straight at me. Actually, more accurately, she’s devouring me with hungry blue eyes.
We trade a few brazenly sexual smiles. Raise our drinks to each other. Trade a couple winks and chuckles of acknowledgement. And by the end of our nonverbal exchange, there’s no doubt in my mind we’re gonna fuck tonight. There’s no rush, of course. In fact, when I’m flirting with a particularly attractive woman—the kind who’s used to getting any man she wants—I generally find it works to my advantage to let her simmer a bit. Let her wonder. Let her chase a bit. And so, despite the magnetic pull I’m feeling to the knockout at the next table, I force myself to look away and eavesdrop on the conversation at my small table again.