Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
I took a sip out of my water bottle to keep from laughing.
Reagan’s eyes shifted to mine, and he pretended to consider. “Hmmm. Would my parents make time for the Thatcher Pennington? Hard to say, really. They’re not the sort of people who are impressed by money and status—”
Water shot out of my nose, and I began to cough. “Ignore him, Layla. Trent Wellbridge and I are friends. In fact, he was the one I was visiting in Honeybridge last summer.” I shot Reagan a glare as I mopped up the mess on my face with a napkin. “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Mr. Wellbridge.”
His lips curved up in a reluctant smile, and those gorgeous eyes twinkled at me as he peeled the lid off his yogurt. “Don’t quote Oscar Wilde at me, Mr. Pennington. ‘Most people’s thoughts are someone else’s opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.’” He gave me a pointed look. “You’d do well to remember that.”
I stared at him. He’d responded to my Wilde quote with one of his own? Reagan Wellbridge never ceased to surprise me. There was so much more depth to him than he let most people see.
“Rea-gan.” Layla sucked in a shocked breath and pressed a hand to her chest. “Mind your tone when you’re talking to your CEO, if you please.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but Reagan cleared his throat to cut me off. He stuffed a spoonful of yogurt in his mouth, licked the spoon thoroughly, and swallowed. “Sorry,” he said, dropping his gaze demurely.
Layla nodded in smug approval.
What she didn’t notice was that his gaze only dropped to the approximate vicinity of my cock, which had begun thickening behind my fly at the reminder of what his talented tongue could do and only got harder under his attention. I quickly slid back onto the bench before accidentally giving Layla an eyeful, but the situation didn’t improve when Reagan slid in beside me…
Or for the rest of the awkward, frustrating afternoon.
I couldn’t recall how I’d kept my hands and eyes off Reagan our first week on the bus, but doing so now was nearly impossible. Every moment, I was so viscerally aware of the inches between us it required a concerted effort not to let it show. And I craved his intelligent comments, his wry humor, and his sincerity nearly as much as I craved his touch. McGee had been so right when he’d said that three people would make things far more crowded than two… at least when the third person was Layla. I couldn’t wait to get Reagan alone.
We stopped to eat dinner and stretch our legs, and I could see from the strain on Reagan’s face that I wasn’t the only one having difficulty. When we got back to the bus, I gently suggested that Reagan head to my bedroom to call his family in relative privacy, and he took me up on the offer with an enthusiasm that had more to do with escaping the awkwardness than excitement to chat with Patricia and Trent.
I half expected Layla to ask if the offer to use my room extended to her, but she didn’t. And the reason why became clear when Reagan had shut the door to my room behind him.
She let out a breath and smiled broadly. “Finally, some time to catch up just the two of us.”
I studied her face, scanning for any sign of the sexual interest McGee kept talking about, but of course, there was none. She seemed relaxed. Friendly.
I spread my hands. “I think we’ve already covered everything.”
Layla laughed. “About work, yes.” She leaned her elbows on the table. “But how are you, Thatcher? How has the tour been, really? I’m sure it’s been challenging.”
I shrugged, thinking that the most challenging part had been today, mostly due to her arrival.
Layla and I were friends, but not close ones. Certainly not close enough to trade stories about our weeks or talk about our deep feelings. “It’s been great, just as I said. Reagan’s been a trooper, and he’s carried me through more than once.”
Her smile turned cagey. “Your fondness for him makes more sense now that I know you’re friends with his father. I missed that information somehow. I assumed he was a friend of your son’s—”
“My feelings about Reagan have nothing to do with his father,” I said flatly. “I assure you, I hardly remembered that this week.” Even when I’d tried to remind myself. “Let me be clear, Layla: the success of this tour rests largely on Reagan’s shoulders. I’m not discounting the terrific job you and your team did in planning and providing support, but day to day, it was all him. He engaged the people we met, he knows a ton about our products, he thinks on his feet, and he’s genuinely likable. He’s the sort of person who should be mentored for a much higher position.” I lowered my voice. “And if you disagree, I’d be interested to know why.”