Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
DEREK HOTCHKISS: Dude! You took Irie out tonight? Tell me you tapped that!
MATT STEVENS: Heard you bagged Irie Davenport. About f-ing time, man…
ALISON SOMERS: Who’s the mystery girl? Someone posted a pic of you and some girl on a date. I thought you didn’t date???
A handful of people have sent me various iPhone paparazzi style pictures of Irie and I on our date tonight. I guess some bastards have nothing better to do than concern themselves with other people’s shit. Funny, I was so enamored with her all evening, I didn’t even realize people were taking pics.
I toss my phone in the passenger side seat, crack the windows, tune the satellite radio to a lounge station that plays the kind of underground chill they were spinning at Ultra tonight, and then I back out of the driveway.
It’s none of anyone’s fucking business, and I don’t need to explain myself.
Besides, if I were to start bragging about how incredible Irie is, there’ll be a thousand guys beating down her door this time tomorrow. It’s that influencer-generation. Everybody wants what everybody else has.
But Irie? She’s mine. And I’m keeping her to my damn self.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m home.
The place is dark and lifeless—all three of my roommates were talking about hitting up some party on the west side tonight.
Trekking to my room in the back of the apartment, I peel off tonight’s clothes and perch on the edge of the bed, phone in hand as I pull up my email and tap out a message.
TO: davenport.irie@pvucampusmail.edu
FROM: gold.talon@pvucampusmail.edu
SUBJECT: Best. Date. Ever. (If I do say so myself …)
MESSAGE: Seeing as how I still don’t have your phone number, I’m left with no choice but to email you so I can tell you what a fan-fucking-tastic night I had with you. Let’s it again. Soon. ~Tal
Chapter 17
Irie
“So what you’re saying is, he took you on the best date of your life and it’s basically a one and done thing for you?” Brynn asks as she plops down on my bed Sunday afternoon, belly first. She cups her chin on top of her hands, examining me.
I shrug. “At the end of the day, he’s still only after that one thing.”
“So?”
“So … we had a great time, but it’d be different if he was being genuine about it,” I say. “Underneath it all, he’s a man on a mission, and I’m not naïve enough to believe that’s changed.”
“Maybe you’re looking at this all wrong. Maybe you should stop thinking about what he wants out of this and start thinking about what you want instead,” she says. “You want to have a good time, right?”
I nod. “Who doesn’t?”
“A guy like him is probably dynamite in bed.” She lifts her brows and clucks her tongue. “Isn’t there a part of you that wants to see what he could to do you?” She points a finger at me before I have a chance to respond. “And don’t say no because I won’t believe you.”
I laugh. “Of course I’m curious. But that’s not the point.”
“Then maybe it should be.”
I take a seat at my desk and crack the lid on my laptop to check my email. I’ve never seen Brynn so obsessed with my sex life before—then again, I’m pretty sure she thinks I was some kind of virgin when she met me because it wasn’t the kind of thing I ever discussed with anyone since the events that transpired my senior year of high school.
I double-click on my inbox and tap the ‘get mail’ button. The screen fills with half a dozen emails, most of which are spam.
Except one.
My stomach flutters without permission as I scan his words.
Let’s do it again. Soon …
The next thing I know, I’m fighting a grin so wide it makes my cheeks ache.
“What?” Brynn asks, climbing off the bed. “What are you beaming about over there?”
Within seconds she’s lurking over my shoulder, eyes scanning Talon’s email.
“Oh my God. Look at you, Irie. You’re blushing,” she says, nudging my shoulder. “You like him! I knew it.”
Maybe I do.
Maybe I don’t.
Maybe it doesn’t matter.
I close the laptop lid without responding.
It doesn’t matter if I had fun last night. It doesn’t matter if my ego relishes in his flattery. It doesn’t matter if I want to let him kiss me again, if I want to see him again and again and again …
It was a one date deal, and I meant what I said.
I won’t date him.
I can’t.
Chapter 18
Talon
Longmire dismisses us five minutes early Monday morning. Irie packs up and I follow her to the hall.
“You get my email?” I ask.
“Yes.” Her silky hair curtains the side of her face.
“And?”
Irie turns to me, her iridescent gaze penetrating mine. She begins to say something until some douche squeezes past and knocks me into her.
“Jesus Christ.” I yell after him, “Watch your fucking step, asshole.” Turning to Irie, I say, “You okay?”