Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 133886 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 669(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133886 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 669(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Maybe as much as a minute passed before the reply came. “Right. I should have gotten your number and messaged sooner. It’s been a day. Thanks for making sure I got home last night. It wasn’t the best idea to get so drunk. I understand you’re responsible for the endless drinks. Not really thanking you for those.”
Greer read the message twice, pleased that Dallas’s good personality held. He was charming even in text message form. He started to type his own witty reply when another message came through.
“I’m afraid I gave you the wrong impression last night.”
The furrow popped between his brows as he forced himself to forgo any other comment other than clarifying Dallas’s last text. “What impression is that?”
Less than thirty seconds later, Greer’s suspicions were confirmed. “I’m straight. I appreciate the attention, but I’m one hundred percent straight.”
Hmmm. Maybe Dallas remembered more than Greer had hoped. More likely, Ducky had told him what he’d walked out on last night. Damn.
Then the devil’s advocate that always lived inside Greer’s busy brain reminded him how much Dallas’s words landed in the deny-too-much category. His panic settled; he was back in the game. A smile touched Greer’s lips as he typed. “I believe you have the wrong impression of this message. I was just checking on you. You have to be hurting today.”
This time several minutes passed with no response. So many minutes, that he started to lay the phone down, strategizing his next move when the ding had him jerking the phone back up. “The day started off rocky, but I’m good. Thank you, again. My little brother said you got me inside. I vow to never put another living soul in that position again.”
The genuineness of Dallas’s words seemed to mess with Greer’s game. Greer could see the true gentleman in Dallas through the text messages. Skye’s descriptions of the trainer resonated. He sensed Dallas’s truth and honesty. Greer typed slowly, trying to keep it light while wanting Dallas to know his own reality. “It wasn’t a problem. I enjoyed myself last night, more than I have in a very long time.”
A tinge of disappointment forced Greer to put the phone down. What had he expected? For Dallas to want to continue what they’d started last night? Not necessarily, but maybe something in him had hoped it would be that easy.
Then again maybe he didn’t want easy. The chase was the best part, whether in business or pleasure. Most of the time, the end never met the expectation he’d built in his head anyway.
A resigned sigh slipped free.
Greer looked around the meticulously designed bedroom as if seeing it for the first time. The minimalist look didn’t require a large amount of detail. Greer had never felt lonely before. He could say he even craved the selfishness of being alone, only doing what he wanted to do. So, what was he feeling right now?
He didn’t know or couldn’t put it into words.
When no other text came, Greer let it go for the night. He re-started the video he’d been watching, looking down the list of comments. There was quite a bit of interaction from the viewers. Dallas had a lot of female interest.
He mentally relived the full body, head-to-toe dancing he and Dallas had engaged in last night then the erotic feel of Dallas’s fingers tracing the length of his lower lip. Man, that had been a sexy move. Greer’s cock thickened again, turning into a hard, pulsing need, just like last night. He stared at Dallas’s exercising form. He’d already jacked himself today, thinking about Dallas, but no more. He was saving this need for when Dallas finally gave in. He hoped it didn’t take too long.
Chapter 12
“Is Mrs. Haven in?” Dallas asked quietly into the phone the next morning while peeking down the hallway leading into the living room of his apartment. Ducky had his back to him, headphones covering his ears with the muted sounds of hard-core metal bleeding through. At least one monitor looked to be in play over an epic battle of League of Legends. The apartment was almost silent except for the music slipping from Ducky’s headphones and the furious pecking on the mechanical keyboard. He seriously had no idea when his brother ever slept.
“May I tell her who’s calling?”
“Dallas Reigns. We used to work together at Florence Hill.” He silently shut the door to his bedroom and went to the far side of the room. He didn’t want Ducky to hear this conversation, even accidently. Ducky and Donny were still coasting on their high after meeting with Dylan. Their business had had too few milestones to let his newfound melancholy seep over into their good mood. Once these plans firmed—if they firmed—he’d let his brothers know he’d found another income source to hire more trainers. He’d rationalize this as his backup plan, nothing more, nothing less.