Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
As Jaxx struts out of the bar, Chance whispers, “I think she meant ‘behave’, right?”
I purse my lips, fighting back the laugh that wants to escape at his sweet summer child innocence. “Oh, no, she said exactly what she meant.”
The waitress makes another appearance, seeming more comfortable now that Jaxx is gone. “Can I get you a drink, sir?” she asks Chance.
“Club soda and lime, please.” He lifts his chin in my direction questioningly.
“Water, please.”
Now that it’s the two of us, I’m not sure what to say, so I stuff a hummus-covered toast in my mouth, chewing delicately. The waitress drops off our drinks in record time, and we’re alone again.
“You asked what you walked in on earlier,” he reminds me. “It’s sort of a motivational speaking meets Big Brothers mentorship-type deal. I help boys be better men so they’re prepared for the life they want.”
Letting that sink in, I quip in disbelief, “So, no virginal sacrifices?”
He laughs, the sound deep and rumbly. And I’m not surprised when butterflies start dancing in my belly.
CHAPTER 5
CHANCE
When I saw Sam sitting alone in the hotel bar, I told myself to keep walking. She’s obviously nothing but trouble—barging into our club meeting, interrupting my speech, and disappearing without an apology. Despite consciously deciding that, my feet turned toward her of their own volition, drawn to her beauty as much as the opportunity to demand an explanation.
What I didn’t expect to discover was that she’s brilliant, funny, irreverent, and sexy. I’m not sure what’s going to come out of her mouth, no matter how mundane the question, which is surprisingly intriguing. Especially given my penchant for planned, orderly, somewhat generic interactions.
But Sam is almost the exact opposite of my ‘usual’.
I tell her about mentoring young men, and her response is that it must seem about as effective as swimming upstream. I share that the club meeting today went haywire after her appearance, and she grins and says, “You’re welcome for adding some razzle dazzle to your boring club meeting,” while giving me some sassy jazz hands.
I cringe as I tell her, “You know, the guys were calling you Sex Toy Barbie,” but she shrugs.
“I’ve been called a lot worse by a whole lot better.”
Somehow, hours pass, and we’re still talking about this and that and nothing at all. I want to hear more of the outrageousness that passes over her full, pink lips as if it’s completely reasonable, and I want to give it back to her, making her eyes sparkle when I say something she likes.
“That’s when I told her she should go for the jugular. Cut him off, handle things herself, and if he’s lucky, maybe he’ll get to watch. But no touching her until he earns it.” She grins evilly as she tells me about her recommendations for a customer from her quarterly party.
“Harsh,” I say dryly. She shrugs and tilts her head carelessly, not offended at my judgment. “You’re proud of yourself, aren’t you?”
Sam preens, sweeping her hair over her shoulder, and I can’t help but follow the dark curls down to where they brush over her full breasts. The neckline of her pink jumpsuit is tasteful, but I find myself watching closely as she moves, hoping it will dip down slightly. “Of course. If he’s not willing to put out any energy, why should she put out at all?”
“Does that truly solve anything, though?” I don’t know why I’m challenging her. I actually believe she’s right and that a partnership requires effort from both parties.
“I’m not going to fix her marriage in a hotel ballroom party surrounded by light-up, vibrating, bedazzled dicks that’ll probably make her fragile-egoed husband feel like he's been replaced by a bigger, better version of the literal only thing he’s got to offer, because fuck knows he’s not offering anything else. Not support, companionship, or even help, though I hate that word in that context because he’s not ‘helping’ her manage their relationship in any way other than the one that gets him off.”
The pause as she inhales a deep breath is marked with a change in her tone to one much more serious. Sad, even, or maybe resigned. “She’s not looking for therapy. She’s looking for orgasms that’ll make her able to face another day covered with peanut butter residue from the lunch she made yesterday, a release that doesn’t require her being touched by another human who wants something from her, and pleasure that doesn’t come at the cost of being seen as selfish.”
Her eyes fall to the table, her dark lashes fluttering over the pink rising in her cheeks. I don’t think, don’t consider the consequences or care about what’s right or wrong.
Instinctively, I reach out to cover her fidgeting hands with my own, gently tracing along the length of each one with my fingertip. “Hey, are you okay?”