Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70516 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70516 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
I picked up a pink loofah and threw it at him. “Then explain this!”
“That’s mine,” he said as he caught it, water drenching the front of him. “All of her shit is in the master bath.”
That only made this worse.
“Fuck.” I closed the door and turned my back to him, hastily pumping out way too much masculine three-in-one body wash, shampoo and conditioner product before working it into my hair. “My life is ruined. More ruined! I didn’t think it could get much worse after finding my parents…but then you tell me this. I swear to God, I cannot win!”
He started to back out of the room, but I pointed at my clothes. “Leave those. I’ll put them back on.”
He continued to back away.
“I said leave them!”
He left the room and closed the door, leaving me to my own horrific thoughts.
The shower took me longer than it should have—hello, six showerheads, people!—and I got out still majorly freaking out.
I didn’t bother to do anything to my hair—I refused to ever use anything of Audrey’s, no matter how much my hair was about to get tangled—and stomped out of the room in a towel.
I made it to the couch where I searched high and low for my phone.
“You have my phone?”
“It’s on the charger in the kitchen,” he called as he came out of a side room that looked like it was maybe the laundry room.
I refused to acknowledge the house that I was standing in. Cabin. Mansion.
I wasn’t sure.
“Where?” I asked, scanning the miles and miles of marble countertops.
“There,” he said, jerking his head to the corner where the world’s largest and most complicated-looking coffee pot sat.
Next to it, thankfully, was my phone.
“You gonna put some clothes on?” he asked as he eyed my towel.
I shook my head and reached for my phone.
“How’s that towel feel?” he asked. “Audrey bought…”
He didn’t get to finish.
I was shirking off the towel before he could finish.
It hit the floor of the kitchen as I dialed my sister’s number and placed the phone to my ear.
Silence from behind me.
The phone rang and rang and rang.
Her voicemail picked up and I started ranting. “You let me go home with someone that’s dating Audrey! Do you know how badly that’s going to ruin my life? She’s been trying to get me fired for years from the high school because I’m ‘a bad influence.’ Do you know what this is going to do to my reputation? I’m never going to hear the end of this if she finds out!”
My sister’s voicemail beeped, indicating I’d run out of time.
I called her back and continued the rant. “She has clothes here! And she bought him towels! Oh, my god. This is the worst possible scenario I could’ve ever thought up! Why aren’t you answering?”
The beep sounded again, and I called back for a third time.
“I’m standing naked in the hottest man alive’s cabin. And you’re not answering,” I snarled. “I hope you know that you’re making a freakin’ mistake. Boone is a mistake. Get your mouth off of his cock and answer my phone calls!”
The beep sounded again, and I screamed, tossing my phone onto the counter.
That’s when I became aware of the utter quiet in the room behind me.
“You maybe want to wear this?”
I looked over to see him shrugging out of his white long-sleeved tee.
I watched as the miles and miles of healthy tanned skin became exposed as he did that sexy “back of the collar” pull to get the shirt off.
He tugged his hands free of the sleeves one at a time before he handed it to me.
“Uh, thanks, I’m good,” I said as I walked past him into the laundry room.
Or, more accurately, a butler’s pantry that then led to a laundry room.
Freakin’ rich people…
I walked to the washer that was running and pressed pause on the machine.
Just as I lifted the lid to peer inside, a firm hand met my overheated skin.
“Leave it,” he ordered.
I shivered at his words.
Or maybe the way that his hands felt against my bare skin.
I wasn’t examining my feelings too closely in that moment.
“Why?” I asked, voice a bit high-pitched.
“Because your clothes had puke on them,” he said. “Not yours, though. Some drunk asshole’s from the bar.”
I closed the lid of the washer with a harsh snap.
Yeah, other people’s puke and me didn’t get along.
Not even me and my own puke.
“Should’ve led with that, I guess,” he said as he leaned forward to press start on the machine.
The machine started to whirl and jolted to a start.
It was an old machine. One of those ones that had the agitator inside and started with a vicious thunk and snarl.
I jolted backward slightly at the machine’s noise, which in turn put me in contact with parts of the man’s body behind me.