Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 123672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Shit. Everything always sounds like a great idea before it actually comes time to do it.
Lying in bed, I stare up at the ceiling, willing myself to go back to sleep, but when it becomes all too clear that’s never going to happen, I sigh. My bottom lip pouts out, and I throw my blanket back before clambering out of bed.
I traipse out of my room and across the hall to the bathroom to pee, and before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my laundry hamper, scoop all of my clothes up into my arms, and dump them in. My towel falls on top, and as I reach for the hand towel beside the sink, I laugh, noticing my black panties I wore yesterday lingering on the vanity.
I was so freaking tired by the time I got home last night, I was tossing my clothes everywhere. Hell, I’m pretty sure I was half naked by the time I even made it to the bathroom. My shower was quick, and I barely remember any of it. Hell, I was due to wash my hair last night and was so tired that the thought of having to go through my whole hair care routine almost had me shedding a tear, but I wouldn’t dare cry over something so trivial. If Crew ever found out, he’d never let me live it down. He can be an ass like that, but I love that carefree, teasing relationship between us. If only it could be more. We’d be great together, but there’s no way in hell we’d be able to make it work.
We’re more like siblings, but siblings who are sexually attracted to each other . . . wait. No. Scrub that. I take that back. That’s definitely not what we are.
Shit. Now the thought is burned into my brain.
What the hell is wrong with me?
There’s no doubt about it though, the chemistry between us is like no other. If we didn’t work together, I’d probably already be his. We’d fight like there’s no tomorrow, but then we’d fuck until the sun came up and everything would be good again.
Lifting my laundry hamper, I knock my panties in before trudging out into the kitchen and grabbing the few tea towels I’ve left discarded on the counter. Then because I’m a sucker for punishment, I strip my bed as well.
Making my way to my front door with my laundry hamper jammed under my arm, I go to walk out before glancing down and gasping, realizing I’m barely wearing anything, just a thin tank and a pair of cheeky Brazilian panties. I mean, shit. Maybe there really is something wrong with me today.
I scurry back to my bedroom and throw my clothes from one end of the room to the other until I find my favorite pair of sweatpants, and before I know it, I’m back at the front door, juggling my keys, my laundry hamper, and my fancy-ass detergent. Apparently, I’m a hoity-toity bitch who gets turned on by superior laundering. I mean, there’s just something about the way I can walk down the street and look at the random dude coming the other way and know that my clothes are not only softer than his, but they definitely smell better too.
Stepping out of my door, I quickly lock it, and a noise behind me has me whipping around, my heart lurching out of my chest. “I’VE GOT MACE,” I scream, just as my eyes land on my hot neighbor, the one I’ve been avoiding saying hi to.
And good God, he’s not wearing a shirt.
He gapes at me, pulling his door closed behind him, a laundry hamper jammed under his arm, identical to the way I hold mine. A slow grin stretches across his lips, and for just a fleeting second, my heart fumbles right out of my chest. I’ve only ever seen him at a distance and made a point to avoid him like the plague. I could just tell he was a heartbreaker, the kind that I would throw myself at over and over again. But now, up close and personal with that sculpted chest and abs that lead down to that deep V . . . I’m screwed.
Did I mention he wears low riding-gray sweatpants, and damn it, I see the perfect outline of his thick cock.
Hot neighbor dude arches his brows, clearly seeing what’s caught my attention, but he doesn’t waste a perfectly good opportunity to drop his deep, inquisitive gaze down my body as though he’s committing every last subtle curve to memory. “I’m curious,” he murmurs, those dark eyes seeming to dance through the dimly lit hallway as my mind instantly takes me to all the ink I could decorate his body with. Hell, he’s the perfect blank canvas. “That tank isn’t leaving much to the imagination, so it’s only natural for a man to wonder where you could possibly be hiding that can of mace?”