Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 14980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 75(@200wpm)___ 60(@250wpm)___ 50(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 14980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 75(@200wpm)___ 60(@250wpm)___ 50(@300wpm)
“So, when are you gonna leave your bachelor life behind, huh? You’re not getting any younger,” he says, elbowing me in the ribs good-naturedly as our third round of drinks arrives.
I force my expression to stay neutral, taking a long sip of my whiskey. I have no choice but to lie. “When I find someone who makes me want to settle down,” I answer. I already have, I just can’t have her, is what I don’t say.
Paul rolls his eyes. “Well, you’re not going to find anyone sitting around talking to me and ignoring the women in the bar,” he says, shaking his head. He looks around, then grabs my shoulder to encourage me to look with him, gesturing discreetly at a woman on the other side of the bar. “Send a drink over to her, go flirt, get her number!”
I’m sure she’s a perfectly lovely person, but there’s not a single part of me that’s interested. Nobody will ever hold a candle to the girl I really want.
“Maybe later,” I deflect, quickly changing the subject. “Hey, whatever happened to that guy, the one from your rival company that was trying to recruit your employee from under your nose?”
I know that’s a sensitive subject for Paul, and sure enough, it triggers a long rant about his hatred for the rival and how disrespectful and unprofessional he is. I nod along, just thankful he took my bait and stopped asking questions he really doesn’t want the truthful answer to.
My phone chimes in my pocket as Paul’s still ranting, and I take a sip of my drink and check it quickly.
The second I see who’s texted me and what they’ve texted me, I choke. Sputtering, I slam the glass back onto the bar and gasp for breath. Paul stops mid-sentence and pats me hard on the back as I reel, chuckling.
“Christ, what’s got you flustered?” he laughs, trying to grab my phone to see for himself why I’m suddenly struggling to function.
Shit! I move fast, leaping off my chair and shoving my phone back in my pocket, too aggressively for it not to be suspicious, but fuck, I can barely think straight.
“Back in a minute,” I call out, turning on my heel and making straight for the bathrooms. I can hear Paul’s laughter following me through the bar, but thank God, he doesn’t try to stop me.
The bathrooms here are single stalls, and I’m thankful for the privacy as I slam the door closed behind me and lock it. I yank my phone out of my pocket, half convinced that I’ve imagined the whole thing.
But no. The texts are still there.
I want you so bad.
Sent by none other than the girl who hasn’t left my mind in years. Rayna.
Worse, or better, than the message is the photos she sent with it.
Multiple photos, each one making my blood heat and my cock harden in my suit trousers. Photos of her in a scarlet red lingerie set that hugs her lush curves, with fine lace and straps that I want to tear off with my teeth. She’s posing in a mirror, her lips parted and cheeks flushed like she’s as desperate for this as I am.
All logic flies out the window, all thoughts of being sensible and responsible evaporate, impossible to even attempt to grab hold of.
I feel feral, a man going mad, desperate to claim her. I don’t give a fuck about right or wrong, can’t bring myself to care about the age difference or the fact that her father is my best friend. None of it matters, not now.
God save me, but there’s nothing that can keep me from her now.
2
RAYNA
The heavy beats of the music make the floor thump beneath my feet. People in varying stages of drunkenness sway and dance around me, and it takes me a few minutes to find my best friend, Serena, in the crowd. She’s making out with a guy I’ve never seen before as they dance together, and I can’t help but laugh to myself. Serena never has any issues finding someone to spend the night with, claiming she’s just living her twenties to the full. While I admire and respect her having fun, no amount of her trying to get me to have the same type of fun ever works.
I’m only twenty-three. I know I should be out meeting guys and having one-night stands and living it up like my friends are but, no matter how many men offer to buy me drinks or chat me up or ask for my number, I can’t bring myself to begin to want them. Even as I have that thought, I feel someone try to put their arms around my waist to dance with me and step to the side, shaking my head at the man who looks at me with a frown.