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)
Sighing, I close the email and tuck my phone away. I was feeling good after the class today, but I guess it’s always one step forward, two steps back. There’s going to be haters for the good Evan and I are trying to do, no matter what.
That doesn’t mean we stop. Nope, we go harder, dream bigger, and help more guys.
The more we rattle them, the more progress we must be making.
And today, we made huge strides thanks to Samantha.
CHAPTER 17
SAMANTHA
Rule Number Two of hook ups: Don't go on an actual date with your hook up . . . who’s now your boss.
Clearly, my rules are getting amended on the fly as I get ready for a date with Chance. And this is definitely an official date. Though I’m worried I’m going to climb into his lap and ride his dick like a pogo stick within two minutes of his picking me up.
I might’ve told him to hold off, but in solidarity, I was a ‘good girl’ too, and I’m on edge in a major way.
But we’re going on this date first.
If—and that’s a big if—I can decide what to wear, which I need to do quickly because it’s seven thirty, and I’m still standing naked in front of my closet.
What does someone like me wear on a first official date with someone like Chance Harrington?
I hold up a pair of almost sheer bikini panties that I bought myself as a joke last Christmas. Screen printed on the thin nylon is an arrow, with the caption LICK HERE right above it. They’re part of a set. The other one has a similar arrow, just on the backside with the instructions STICK HERE.
I consider both pairs, laughing to myself about their cliché naughtiness, and then go with the lick option. I slip them on with a smile, knowing that Chance will be shocked with their silliness.
Or maybe just be inspired to follow suggestions.
But what else do I wear?
I go through my entire closet twice before deciding on a pink strapless dress that clings to my body by sheer force of will and subtle amounts of elastic in all the right places to make sure I don’t fall out.
I’m tempted to pair it with sandals, and if this were a daytime date I would, but this is nighttime, so I find my sexiest silver heels that make my legs look dynamite, even if I’d be the first victim of the zombie apocalypse if I had to run in them.
Dress and heels on, I look in the mirror at the full effect. My hair is pulled up loosely, a few face-framing layers intentionally escaping, and my makeup is light pink, giving me a sort of sun-kissed look. The outfit is flattering and sexy without being in your face. I feel . . . pretty. And not a minute too soon because Chance knocks on my door.
Surprisingly, I’m almost shy opening up for him. This is real on an entirely different level. “Hi.” When he doesn’t answer, standing outside my door in a black suit and looking like the world’s sexiest secret agent, I stammer a little, fidgeting with my hair and smoothing my dress. “What is it?”
“You look . . . gorgeous,” he says, visibly swallowing. “In all the world tonight, there must be millions of men taking millions of women out on dates. Yet I’m certain none are as lucky as I am right now.”
“Poetic,” I comment dryly. “Did you practice that or read it in a book?” I’m judging him harshly, but guys don’t really talk like that, not seriously. It’s either a line or sarcasm.
“Actually,” Chance says, not offended by my response, “I have read poetry. I think a gentleman should be acquainted with at least a little bit of poetry. And not just dirty limericks, either. You truly are breathtaking, Samantha.”
“Oh. Uhm, thank you,” I say, more accepting this time to the compliment without all the fancy-schmanciness around it. “You wanna come in?”
“For a minute, but we have reservations.” He steps into my apartment, but only by a few feet.
“We do?” I ask.
Chance nods, looking around as he says bluntly, “Was afraid if I didn’t, I would push in as soon you open the door and bend you over the nearest surface. A reservation seemed like a way to stop myself.”
“An appointment is all it takes to stop you from fucking me?” I challenge with a sly grin. Now that I know what he’s doing, I’m flirting hard, almost as if I want to push him too far to see what he’ll do. Sex is a familiar and comfortable zone. A date is not.
“Samantha,” he warns, his voice deep and rough. “Show me your apartment and then let’s go out. I want to take you on a date.”
That stops the bratty response I had at the ready on the tip of my tongue. “You do?” When he simply stares at me, I give in and gesture around me, still not exactly sure how it got to this point. Chance and I are on an actual date. It’s madness. “The ten-second tour. Not in your view is my bedroom, which is slightly bigger than your average broom closet, and my bathroom, which is slightly bigger than an airplane’s. That’s pretty much it.”