Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
“It won’t work. The truth of scotch and espresso will forever haunt you.”
“You might try to ruin my two favorite drinks, but I’m made of tougher stuff than that.”
“Is that a challenge?”
He laughed. “No, because you’d smile at me and win.”
“Good. Because I have excellent taste in beverages. I’m a white wine girlie till the day I die.”
“I’ll remember that.”
No doubt he will. He remembers everything.
He even installed the app on my phone for the dogs’ GPS trackers, assuring me they’d never escaped but his mom likes to have them wear them just in case. Makes sense—it’s always good to be cautious. My sister has an AirTag on her water bottle, so I sure as hell understand putting a GPS tracker on a precious pet.
With all this intel filed away in my brain and my phone, I focus on making Miles’s mom happy. I snap pics of the pack as they burrow into the blanket forts I built for them on the couch. I’m going to be the best dog-sitter ever. I’m going to take the best pictures ever. I’m going to ace this job.
“Smile for the camera,” I say to the dogs, making a clicking sound to get their attention.
Four little heads tilt toward me in perfect unison.
Yes! The money shot.
I snap the picture with my phone, already imagining how much Miles’s mom is going to love this one.
“Oh, I can see you’re already settling in.” Miles’s voice drifts behind me as he enters the room.
I lower my phone and turn around…
And my jaw falls open.
It’s not the first time I’ve seen Miles in a suit—I’ve photographed him and the other guys on game days enough to know he cleans up well. Those shots always blow up online, and for good reason.
But this is different.
He’s standing in front of me in a tan suit that looks like it was made to worship his body. The crisp fabric stretches just right over his broad shoulders, and his tie hangs undone at the collar, leaving him looking effortlessly sexy. His travel bag is slung over one shoulder, and the jacket rests casually on his elbow.
My throat goes dry, and my skin hums, every nerve ending sparking like a live wire.
“Hi,” I manage to say, though it comes out soft and breathy—so not me.
His lips quirk, and he gives me a look that’s warm and just a little too knowing. “Hey.” His tone is lower than usual, like he’s reading the shift in the air between us and leaning into it. Or maybe causing it. Intentionally. The man does everything with so much intention.
I stand, brushing invisible wrinkles from my jeans, as if that’ll make me less underdressed next to him. My black zip-up hoodie is covered in dog hair, and he looks like he’s arrived for a photo shoot for a luxury watch ad. As I tuck my phone into my back pocket, my gaze sails to the gold watch on his wrist. I don’t even know why wristwatches are so sexy, but there’s something about them. So strong and masculine. But it’s also…personal. I haven’t seen him wear it yet this season.
“You have on your watch,” I say, pointing to it, like it holds the key to this charge between us.
“You noticed,” he says, amused, maybe touched, definitely calling back my comment from the night at Sticks and Stones.
The tip of my tongue darts out, wetting my lips as I weigh my response. “It’s a nice watch. Once upon a time you left it behind at the studio,” I say softly.
A faint noise seems to rumble from his chest. “You remember.”
“I do,” I say, a smile teasing at my lips as we dance around our memories of the day we spent together.
He looks down at the gold band, runs his thumb across it. “It’s a reminder…of that day.”
A whimper threatens to escape my lips. But I swallow it down, instead gesturing toward him—the whole ensemble. “You look…” I start, but the words are lodged in my mind and don’t make it past my lips.
His dark gaze travels up and down me. “You always look…”
He can’t seem to finish either.
We’re both at a loss for words as my pulse thunders in my ears. The charged silence stretches, and I fight the urge to look away.
He shifts the bag higher on his shoulder, the casual movement breaking the spell just enough to let me breathe again. “I should get going, but I need to tell you—” he says.
“What about your tie?”
He looks down like he’s just noticed it’s undone. “I guess I should do something about that.”
“Let me,” I say. The command—or is it a plea?—comes out unbidden and full of unchecked desire. A desire that’s stronger than my restraint and all my reasons to resist him.
“Do it,” he says, his voice both raspy and urgent.