Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
“So that’s how it is, huh?” He arches an eyebrow, challenging me with mock bravado.
I shrug. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Alright. I see. Remember that, Mac. When you had the chance to be the bigger person.”
“Ohhh,” I taunt. “So it’s war now, huh? Sworn enemies to the death?”
“I don’t start shit, I finish it.” He makes a joking tough guy face and kicks some sand at my feet.
“Yeah, real mature.”
“Now about that bet, princess.”
That does me in. With that single mocking nickname, I blink and a terrible sinking awareness becomes undeniable.
Cooper’s hot.
Insanely hot.
And it’s not just his strong, angular face and deep, dark eyes that descend for ages. He also possesses a certain I don’t give a fuck quality that gets right at the most susceptible parts of me. In the light of the fire, there’s something almost ominous about him. A knife when the light glints off the blade. Yet he has a magnetism that’s undeniable.
I can’t remember the last time I felt such a visceral attraction to a guy. If ever.
I don’t like it. Not only because I have a boyfriend, but because my pulse is racing and my cheeks are hot, and I hate feeling like I’m not in control of my own body.
“We never did set the stakes,” he muses.
“What do you want, then?” Fair’s fair. If nothing else, I’m a woman of my word.
“You wanna make out?”
I play it cool, but my pulse kicks into a new gear. “What else do you want?”
“I mean, I figured a blowjob was a nonstarter, but if we’re negotiating. …”
Despite myself, I crack a smile. “You’re shameless.”
Somehow he manages to release the tension from the moment, erasing all awkwardness until I’m no longer hyperaware of myself.
“Alright,” he says, a sexy grin tilting his lips. “You drive a hard bargain. I’ll go down on you first.”
“Yeah, I think we’re at an impasse on this one.”
“That right?” He watches me under heavy-lidded eyes. It’s impossible not to feel he’s undressing me in his mind. “Fine. But I’m keeping your marker. You’re going to owe me one.”
At some point I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. By then Cooper and I are knee-deep in an argument over the socioeconomic implications of pastries. I glance at my phone to make sure it isn’t Bonnie asking for a rescue, but it’s just Preston saying he’s home from his poker game.
“No way,” Cooper argues. “Pastries are rich people food. You never see someone making minimum wage popping into a bakery for a box of fucking croissants. We got donuts, cold Pop-Tarts, and maybe a biscuit out of a can or something, but none of that scone shit.”
“A donut is absolutely a pastry. And a donut shop is a kind of bakery.”
“Horseshit. There are five bakeries in this town, and three of them are only open in the summer. What does that tell you?”
“That the population swells during the tourist season, and the overflow shops open to support that demand. It says nothing about the demographics.”
He scoffs, tossing a stick into the fire. “Now you’re talking nonsense.”
Though it sounds like we’re fighting, the subtle turn at the corner of his mouth tells me it’s all in good fun. Arguing is practically a pastime in my house, so I’m quite skilled at it. Not sure where Cooper learned to bicker so well, but he definitely keeps me on my toes. And neither of us take well to admitting defeat.
“You’re not the most annoying clone I’ve ever met,” he says a while later.
Bonnie and Evan still aren’t back. The boardwalk behind us is now mostly quiet in the late hour, and yet I’m not tired. If anything, I feel more energized.
“Clone?” I echo with a wry look. That’s a new one on me.
“What we call the rich folks. Because you’re all the same.” His eyes glint thoughtfully beneath the moonlight. “But maybe you’re not exactly like the rest of them.”
“Not sure if that’s an insulting compliment or a complimentary insult.” It’s my turn to kick a little sand at him.
“No, I mean, you’re not what I expected. You’re chill. Real.” He continues to study me, all the playfulness and pretense forgotten. On his face I see only sincerity. The real Cooper. “Not one of those stuck-up jackasses who has their head up their ass because they love the smell of their own shit so much.”
There’s something in his voice, and it’s more than the surface annoyance with yuppie tourists and rich jerks. It sounds like real pain.
I give him an elbow jab to lighten the mood. “I get it. I’ve grown up with those people. You’d think it gets to a point where you hardly notice it, but nope. Still, they’re not all bad.”
“This boyfriend of yours? What’s his story?”
“Preston,” I supply. “He’s from the area, actually—his family lives down the coast. He goes to Garnet, obviously. Business major.”