Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 79(@250wpm)___ 66(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 79(@250wpm)___ 66(@300wpm)
“Why do you keep taking jobs with clients who have terrible taste?”
Colin frowned. “That’s rude.”
“Let me rephrase. Why are you such a pushover when your clients insist on choosing the ugliest shit?”
He flicked his fingers along the stupid flamingo corpse without realizing what he was doing. “I like this little guy,” he said softly. “It’s kinda quirky. How can you not like a quirky flamingo skeleton?”
I added, “With a tiara and holding a tiny skeleton Emmy Award.”
Colin’s laughter was like the dawning of a brilliant sun—it lit up the entire room and my whole heart. I grinned at him stupidly. “Point taken.”
His smile faded and his expression turned thoughtful. I wondered if the shot had helped weaken his usual defensive walls. “It’s easy.” He shrugged without looking up at me. “I can blame the ugly on them. Besides, they pay well.”
That was what I’d expected, but his honesty surprised me. “You play it safe by working for idiots.”
He opened his mouth to argue with me but stopped before the words came out. “Maybe.”
I moved closer to him on the rug. The scent of him wafted around us like an attraction spell from a witchy book on matchmaking. “Not maybe. Tell me why you didn’t take the Greensong Pharmacy job.”
He looked surprised. “How do you know about that?”
My aunt and uncle owned Greensong Pharmacy and had spent twenty years restoring the historic property to its former glory. A couple of months ago, when they’d asked me for an interior designer to help keep the interior historically consistent but also commercially optimized, I’d immediately recommended Colin.
He’d rejected them out of hand, hadn’t even considered the job despite having an opening in his schedule. At first, I’d thought it was because he knew about my connection to the place, but then I’d suddenly realized all of the jobs he’d took were either low-budget or clients with horrendous taste. If it hadn’t been for accidentally seeing his sketchbook one day, I might have thought he, himself, had terrible taste.
But I’d seen his sketchbook.
I cleared my throat and slid him another shot. “Never mind. Drink this.”
He looked at me sideways before throwing back the harsh drink and coughing. “Truth or shot,” he croaked, handing me back the glass.
I tossed back another shot and raised an eyebrow at him.
“Fine. Truth.” He pulled his bare legs up inside my denim button-down and wrapped his arms around his knees. Seeing him in my clothes was making me crazy.
“Who’s Ryan?”
His reaction was comical. First he frowned in confusion, and then he winced. “Nobody important.”
“Shouldn’t you call him?” Even though I automatically hated the guy, he at least deserved a phone call.
“No, um, he’s in… ah… New York?”
I tilted my head and studied him. “You were going to New York for your date tonight?”
He cleared his throat and scratched at the back of his neck. I enjoyed seeing him flustered. “It’s just that… I may have misled you a smidge.”
“Explain.” I grinned at him because this was a side of him I’d never really seen before.
“RyanSeacrestOkay?” he said all at once.
“I don’t know that word,” I teased after catching his meaning.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Hush up and mind your business.”
I couldn’t stand it anymore. I leaned in and took a soft taste of his lips, surprising a meep sound out of him. We kissed for a few minutes until I realized at some point he’d unfolded his body long enough to crawl in my lap and straddle me. I loved the feel of him there. My hands grasped his ass cheeks over the smooth cotton of his boxer briefs, and I caught a glimpse of his chest down the open collar of the shirt.
I pulled back and gazed at him. “Glad you ditched him for me. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather ring in the New Year with.”
“I thought you were straight,” he admitted. “You flirt with everyone. Heck, Ruby Granger is daydreaming about having your babies. She asked me what color you’d want in your nursery and then had us paint it ‘bad-boy blue’ with little bulldog decals all over the danged walls.”
Colin looked annoyed by it which made me feel downright euphoric.
“Not straight,” I confirmed. “Just a natural flirt and the kind of person who knows you catch more bees with honey than with vinegar.”
His face widened in a genuine smile. “My Granny Joyce uses that expression.”
“I know. Your granny used to bring my grandmother daisies every Sunday on her way home from church.”
Colin’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“She grows them. In pots.”
He rolled his eyes, but I was happy to feel his hands still fiddling with the ends of my hair on my neck. “Yes, Ryder. I know that. She grows them from seed in her greenhouse so she can sell them at the farmer’s market all summer. The woman raised me, for goodness’ sake.”