Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
I was going to do it.
And I knew Emmett was going to be pissed about it.
I walked out into my backyard afterwards. The wood of the old failing patio deck creaked under my feet, and the air was filled with the sound of crickets. Somewhere far off, a charcoal barbecue gave off its last embers of smoke.
I looked over the top of the fence, toward Emmett’s backyard. I could faintly see the glow of a dim light coming from one of his upstairs windows.
Emmett could befriend anyone, Kace had said.
Well, apparently not me.
A bitter coil of resentment tightened in my chest. The ghost of some emotion that had been in me since I was a kid. I was used to people like Emmett treating me like I didn’t matter—like I was nothing, the same trailer trash nobody that I’d been when I was a kid.
But Emmett didn’t just want to ignore me. He wanted to change how I acted. Who I was.
Nobody usually got under my skin for longer than a few minutes, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him. What the hell was with me?
The next morning I woke up to the sound of my doorbell and, right afterward, Oreo going into a stage-five nuclear barkfest.
“I know, right, girl?” I said, my eyes still bleary from a heavy sleep. “That doorbell sound was so offensive.”
I scooped her up and carried her down the creaky stairs toward the front door. I could see through the windows already that there was nobody there, but as I opened the door, I saw a telltale red Porsche heading off down the driveway.
There was a wrapped-up gift tray on my doorstep. Not just a simple wicker basket full of popcorn and candy, like a normal person would use for a gift basket, but something absolutely ridiculous. It was made of marble, as far as I could tell, and it contained about ten different things, all of which were fall-themed.
Fancy fall-spiced champagne. A cinnamon-clove cold brew kit. Apple candies. Other overpriced treats.
And in front of it all, a handwritten card, written in proper cursive.
Happy first day of autumn, the most beautiful time of year. And congratulations, Storm, on your win against Miami last night, and of course, your contract with the Fixer Brothers. Cheers to a beautiful partnership. My phone number’s on the back of this card, if you ever need advice on anything. -E. Waycott
Something fizzled in my chest, and strangely, I felt a smile tugging at the corners of my lips.
“That motherfucker,” I said out loud, under my breath.
What the hell was this feeling? Anger? Confusion? Intrigue? All three? He even left his phone number, clearly in hopes that I’d consult him before anything I said or posted publicly. Fat chance of me ever doing that.
All I knew was that I hadn’t felt so… challenged, in a very long time.
I see how it is, I thought to myself as I reread the note. You couldn’t prevent me from working with the Fixer Brothers, so now you’re trying to butter me up, babe?
Emmett wasn’t even just trying to butter me up.
He was trying to tame me.
Oh, it’s on.
I knew exactly what I wanted to do.
Before I even thought through the process, I knew I was about to pull a stunt that was exactly what Emmett would hate: a spur-of-the-moment decision, made in haste, without giving a single fuck what anyone might think of me.
I headed back inside, hoisting up the stupidly heavy marble gift basket and putting it in my kitchen. I beelined for my backyard.
And I shoved off my shorts and stripped nude the moment I hit my lawn.
I lay back onto the picnic blanket I had out there, in the bright morning sunlight. I grabbed my phone, turned it to the camera setting, and put it on selfie mode.
I held the camera out as far as it would go, framing myself so that plenty of my cock was showing. It was thick even lying there against my thigh—I’d always been more of a show-er not a grow-er, and now it was my time to shine.
I snapped a few photos of my naked body. I was proud of how I looked naked. My body was one of the few things that I’d never, ever been ashamed of. I got a few really good shots, where my muscles were on display and my cock looked great in the morning light.
And then I opened up my social media, “accidentally” posting my private nudes online.
Satisfaction flooded through me the moment I hit post.
Pure, white-hot fucking thrill.
I basked in the sunlight, leaning back in the portion of my yard that was fully private, surrounded by tall banks of pine trees and Aspens.
About ten minutes later, I went back to my account and deleted all of the photos, so that it would look like a true accidental “leak.”