Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 92070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
"Not explicitly," he says. "But it happens to a lot of people. A PhD is an ordeal. She's going to spend a lot of years working sixty-hour weeks, barely making ends meet."
"It's what she wants."
He looks to the door. "I know it's not my place to say. And I… Well, you're a tattoo artist, right?"
Here it comes. "Yeah."
"So you're a small business owner, basically?"
That's more respect than I expect. "More or less."
"Every month is different. Sometimes, they're lean, sometimes they're fat."
That is accurate. I nod.
"My mom ran a business when I was growing up. Eventually, it did well, and she sold it for a lot of money, but I remember how hard it was in the early days. I don't know if that's what Val wants."
I don't get the chance to respond.
Val steps out of the bathroom, wet hair falling over her shoulders, a tiny towel wrapped around her curvy body.
She looks sexy as hell.
And he notices.
He absolutely notices. I practically see the cartoon hearts in his eyes.
"Ooh, is that coffee?" She moves to the kitchen and fills a cup, leaving tiny drops of water on the hardwood floor. "You're a lifesaver, Archie."
"Of course." He beams from her praise.
He wants her.
And that doesn't bother me.
Not even a little.
Chapter Fourteen
VAL
After a short nap, I linger in bed for an extra twenty minutes. Then another twenty. The soft sheets feel far too good after thirteen hours in the air.
Then Dare knocks and everything feels good in a different way.
"Hey." He taps the door again. "You decent?"
"What if I sleep in the nude?" I don't sleep naked, but I don't wear much. There is air-conditioning in this building (rare, for Europe), but it's not California strength (common, for Europe). The room is warm.
And knowing Dare will see me in my skimpy tank and shorts?
Why is it so hot in here?
Right. The weak air-conditioning. Of course. That's a perfectly reasonable explanation. The only necessary explanation.
"Then you should probably put something on." He taps the door again. "Ten seconds."
There's no sense in waiting. "Come in."
Dare slides the door open, steps inside, slides it shut behind him. He surveys the space with a smile. "No One Direction posters." His smile disappears. "No posters."
"I didn't pack any."
He nods, accepting the answer, but not liking it. He doesn't say it, but he communicates it all the same. Is this lack of décor because of The Incident? 'Cause I don't buy the whole "I'm too busy" thing.
It is, but I don't want to focus on the past. Better to consider the future. "Should I get a beefcake pinup?" I try to keep the mood light. I know where he wants to go. And it's fair to go there, sure. After a full night of sleep.
"Hell, yeah. Let's go to a sex shop."
"A sex shop?" I play dumb, as if I don't know there are a bajillion sex shops in Barcelona.
"They're everywhere here." He shoots me a really look. "You think I can't Google? There's even a Museum of Sex."
There's a mini sex-zone on the outskirts of the Gothic Quarter, actually. And it's on the way to the beach too. "Do we need to go?"
"First stop."
"The beach is our first stop," I say.
"It's on the way."
Damn.
"You thought I'd miss that?"
Thought? No. Hoped? Yes. The sheet falls as I sit up.
Dare's eyes go to the thin straps of my tank top. My shoulders. My chest.
My skin flushes. My thoughts scatter.
This feels intimate. But that's normal. I'm in pajamas. I'm in bed, in my room. I've never invited anyone into this space, much less a man.
And, yes, Dare is my best friend, but for some reason, I'm acutely aware of his masculinity at the moment.
He's still wet from his shower, and he smells like the soap he uses at home—something with pine, I think. His white t-shirt sticks to his broad chest.
Is he more built than he was six months ago? Ten days ago?
Why are his tattooed arms so appealing all of a sudden?
"I'm smarter than I look." He moves across the room, motions to the bed may I? When I nod, he sits a few feet from me. "Of course, I don't look too smart, so that's not saying much."
"You know the bimbo thing won't fool me."
"Bimbo is an ugly word," he says. "Only us bimbos can say it."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, we're taking it back."
"You're not dumb." I don't know why he pretends he is.
"Neither are most supposed bimbos." He raises a brow think about it.
"You're messing with me?"
He motions a little. "I'm outclassed here."
"You are not."
"Really? The med student and the PhD student and the guy with an associate's degree?"
Does he really see himself that way? "How long did you apprentice?"
"You know the answer to that."
"How long?" I ask again.
"Two years," he says.
"That's four years of education. Same as me," I say. "And there are plenty of other ways to be smart." I turn toward him. "Body smart. Life smart. People smart."