Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Still undecided, I take a screenshot and send them to Molly for her opinion.
Me: Should I get these, yes or no?
Molly: How much are they?
Me: 40.
Molly: 40? This seems like a no-brainer.
Molly: Wait. Where will you wear those? They’re light pink, and it’s almost fall.
Me: True, but they’re so cute!
Molly: Wait. Why are we talking about shoes when you still haven’t told me how it’s going with Duke?
Me: Let’s just say…about five minutes ago, I gave him a small heart attack when he was taking a shower.
Molly: What does that mean???
Me: He was in the shower when I got home, so I went in the bathroom and waited so I could scare the crap out of him—and it worked. He said JESUS CHRIST three times.
Molly: POSEY KETTNER, WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT??? He’s an NFL football player. He could have tackled you.
Me: Doubtful. He was butt ass naked.
Me: Also, did I NOT MENTION that when he got here yesterday, he climbed in THROUGH A WINDOW because the door was locked and he couldn’t find the doorbell???
Molly: The window? What window??
Me: The one in the kitchen, above the sink.
Molly: How the hell was he able to fit through there? It’s tiny.
Me: Yeah, I know. I was in my office, and he came upstairs and busted through the door—I thought he was a robber and almost stabbed him with the letter opener. LOL, can you imagine?
Molly: Oh my God, stop it. No, you did not almost stab him.
Me: I mean, okay fine. He was on the other side of the desk, but I needed a weapon because I didn’t know who he was. And who freaking just comes inside like that? RING THE DAMN DOORBELL
Molly: Dear God. I am so sorry.
Me: You warned me he was an asshole, so it didn’t come as a shock.
Molly: You have to put up with this bullshit for another 2 weeks and it’s my fault.
Me: We can blame Eli. He’s the one who thought it was a good idea to hide him here. Honestly, who do these guys think they’re fooling? Duke is ten feet tall, looks like a cowboy, SOUNDS like a cowboy, and roams around the yard like a puppy dog. There is no hiding him, and no disguise will conceal his identity.
Molly: Listen, I don’t want to bash men, but—let them live in their little fantasy world, eh? This is a THEM problem, not a YOU problem.
Me: I tried introducing some rules last night, and he laughed in my face.
Molly: LOL, what kind of rules?
Me: Basic roommate rules, respect the space, don’t make a ton of noise—stuff like that.
Molly: Oh boy…
Me: Yeah, oh boy is right.
Me: Speaking of which, he’s knocking—let me see what he wants.
Surprised that the man remembers his manners and has the courtesy to knock on my office door, I put my phone down and clear my throat. “Come in.”
The door creaks open slowly.
And why I was expecting him to be fully clothed is beyond me, but that’s not the sight that greets me when he walks all the way in, only a stark white towel wrapped around his waist.
Wet hair.
Gleaming chest, dripping with moisture.
It looks as if someone rubbed him down with baby oil.
“Can I help you?” I avert my eyes. His pec muscles are the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen. No man I’ve ever dated or seen in the gym has a body like this.
No man.
Ever.
If Chris Hemsworth and The Rock had a baby, it would be Duke Colter.
He runs a hand through his glistening wet hair. “I was wonderin’ if you were willing to grab those groceries off the list I made.”
Wonderin’… So Southern.
“Um.” I squirm in my chair, focusing my eyes on the wall behind him.
And why is he so tan? Does he run around outside with no shirt on?
He’s watching me expectantly, and once again, I’m surprised he seems to be asking me for a favor as opposed to telling me.
“I suppose I could find time later? There are some things I need to grab for my friend’s birthday.”
My friend Anna is turning thirty. We’re organizing a little gathering for her, and I still have to get the basics for a charcuterie board.
“Thanks.”
Drip.
Drip.
“Did you even dry off? Why are you still dripping wet?” All over my carpet.
“Oh—must’ve forgotten.”
Must have forgotten? Who forgets to towel off after a shower? Who just climbs out and walks around dripping wet?
Duke does, apparently.
Bare feet.
Tan legs.
Chest with a smattering of hair in the center; in the valley between his well-defined pecs. Hard nipples. Thick neck.
Stop looking at him, Posey, or he’ll think you’re attracted to him.
You are attracted to him, idiot.
No, I’m not. My type is the business type, collared shirts with coordinating ties and dress pants. Loafers.
Loafers? Since when?
Since…mind your own damn business!
Why am I arguing with myself?
The man is waiting for me to say something, filling up my doorway in the most uncomfortable way.