Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Truth always does, even if it’s only the half of it.
She and I stare at one another a moment, and then I move to the edge of the cushion, leaning forward with my elbows on my thighs. “I get what you’re saying, and I know you well enough to know nothing I say will convince you not one of those things will happen, so I won’t bother.”
Her eyes narrow spiritedly as we both knew this was my way of saying exactly that.
“What if…” Fuck me, I should shut up now. “What if I say yes”—her eyes light up, but I lift my hands, halting whatever it is she planned to follow with and finish—“but instead, I help you find someone else.”
I brace for her horror. For her shouts of refusal.
But Davis fucking Franco does neither of those things.
She squeals, loudly, and then she jumps up on her feet, staring down at me with a giant, full fucking smile on her puffy, full fucking lips. “Are you serious?”
I frown, and the nod I give is forced when it should come easy.
“So you’ll be my wingman?” she asks.
I bite back a grimace. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say no, but is that not what I offered? To “assist” her in finding a man worth her time.
Worth a spot in her memory.
Worth being inside her?
A cough fights its way free, but I swallow it down.
You can control this shit, my man.
It’s with that thought in mind, I nod. “Yeah. Like a wingman.”
She claps her hands, lowering herself onto the coffee table in front of me.
Right in front of me.
I’m talking knee to fucking knee, face to face.
“Okay, what exactly do we do?” Her brown eyes sparkle, her teeth sinking into the corner of her bottom lip.
I’m tempted to free it.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, are you going to give me tasks or a list or homework or something and grade me on it? What’s the grading scale? Are we talking a letter grade or a percentage or what should I work toward? And what do you think is a good baseline to start, like how do I know if I’m getting better or ready or whatever? Oh, and do you think you should show me some moves before I play jelly on toast and spread—”
“Whoa, back up.” I gape at her, at the wild excitement buzzing across every inch of her satiny skin. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The lessons.”
“What lessons?”
“You said you’d help me, remember?” Her eyes widen as if her shitty explanation should make perfect sense.
It doesn’t.
“It was less than sixty seconds ago, so yeah, I remember.”
“Then you should be following.” She pauses, cocking her head with a single, swift blink. “If I’m going to go get a guy to have sex with me, I need to know how to first get a guy. I’m pretty sure that’s simply stated.”
“No, it’s not. Not at all.”
“Well, now you know.”
Leaning even closer, I bring us eye level, and her knees knock mine in a stubborn attempt at dominance I’ll never give her.
“Are you really sitting here acting like you don’t know what to do to get a man’s attention?”
“Did you somehow miss the entire reason I wrote a two-thousand-word, double-spaced essay trying to convince you to have sex with me?” Her features pull, her tone a mix of sass and frustration. “If I knew how to rope a guy in on my own, I wouldn’t be standing here pathetically happy to have a less than eager man help me convince another man to have sex with me.”
“You have to fuck them right back, you know?” I spat.
“You know what I mean, Crew Taylor.” She glares, crossing her arms over her chest in a pout.
My eyes follow the movement, and I frown at the swell of her breasts, at the soft sweep of skin that curves down, disappearing beneath the yellow tank top she’s wearing.
“This is a bad idea.” I push to stand, slipping past her.
Moments after I’m on my feet, she leaps up, jumping over the back of the couch to block my path.
“Davis. Move.”
“You cannot back out now. I need your help.”
“Bring your next date home and it’s a done deal. Problem fucking solved.” I press my lips together firmly. She’s driving me fucking mad.
“Yeah, sure, I’ll just take out my little black book and magically find someone to take me out to fuck.”
“It’s called Tinder, sweetheart. You’ll bleed in a click of a fucking button.”
“Ew.”
“That’s what you want, is it not? To be fucked for fun?”
“And potentially be on the next episode of Body Cam? No, thank you.”
My jaw clenches, and I want to fucking scream at her, but I hold back, and she shakes her head.
“Crew,” she breaks off. “I’ve never dated before.”
“Bullshit,” I snap, stepping into her. “You’ve always been up front. Don’t start lying to me now.”