Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Okay.
I follow him out and we make a slow death march to my front door. “You okay?” I ask.
“Great.”
“That was some night, huh?”
He laughs but doesn’t say anything.
Now we’re on my porch. “Are we gonna pretend it didn’t totally feel like a date?”
He turns to face me. “Good practice for you,” he says lamely.
I reach up, daring him to dodge my touch, but he doesn’t. He lets me brush his hair off his forehead. “Wear your hair like this more often.”
“It’s messy.”
“It’s great.”
“It gets in my eyes,” he says, more quietly.
“It’s sexy.”
He closes his eyes. “Fizzy.”
“Come inside.”
Slowly, he opens his eyes again and his gaze dips to my mouth. “What for?”
“You know what for.”
He laughs, but it’s not out of amusement or mockery. It’s a laugh of defeat. It’s agreement. And for a flash I’m elated.
But then he says, “You know we can’t.”
“Technically we can. My contract prohibits me from dating or any outside romantic involvement only during filming. I checked.”
“Fizzy. We absolutely cannot.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets. And they’re hidden but I remember them like they’ve been imprinted in my retinas, and all I can think about is those big hands gripping me, walking me backward, bossy and directed, pushing me up against a wall or down on a bed. His strong arms bracing over me, those long fingers exploring. I want him above, blocking out every light source. I want to know nothing but the heat and scent of his skin, the rough sounds he makes when he comes.
“Why not?” I aim the question at his throat and it bobs with a swallow.
“You know why. Our goal is to find your soulmate. I already—” He breaks off. “We can’t.”
“The show hasn’t even started yet. Consider it more homework.” I reach forward, rest my hand on his side. God, he’s so solid under my touch. “Finding joy. I promise you’ll enjoy it.”
“That’s not what concerns me.”
“It’s been so long,” I admit. “I’m so relieved to want this. I—”
“Fizzy.”
“Trust me. I’m great at compartmentalizing.”
“That’s the thing,” he says, and bends to press a soft but definitive kiss to my jaw. “I’m not.”
fourteen CONNOR
What does a man do after being propositioned by one of the most beautiful women in San Diego and then turning her down?
He considers slamming his head into a wall because he’s an idiot for deciding casual sex doesn’t work for him.
He has a wank so many times imagining it that he wakes up a bit chafed the next morning.
He goes to work—where he has been tasked with finding the soulmate of the very woman he wants, and who apparently also wants him—because his livelihood and access to his child depend on it.
He makes a mental note to get very drunk afterward.
And a plan for drinking later is wise considering the once-familiar office I walk into suddenly looks like a beefcake sweet shop.
There are men everywhere: in the lobby, clustered in conference rooms, and just casually—albeit attractively—leaning against cubicle partitions. In front of me stands every possible male phenotype—businessmen in suits, surfer dudes in shorts, inked-up blokes in torn jeans, cuddly-looking lads in jumpers—and each has the potential to be Fizzy’s soulmate. Wonderful.
My phone rings as I round the corner near my office. I take a calming breath, unsure whether I’m ready to put out any fires yet this morning, but relax when I see a photo of Nat and Stevie filling the screen.
“Hello—”
“I have a favor to ask,” Nat says immediately.
“Go on then.”
“Insu was asked to speak at a convention in Vegas this weekend and invited me to go. I’d have to leave Thursday, so I was wondering—”
“Of course. You know I’ll always take her early.”
“Thank you,” she says on a relieved sigh. “Stevie mentioned you had a date last night, and I didn’t want to assume anything.”
“I told her it wasn’t a date.” I told her several times, in fact. I should probably be concerned that my ten-year-old is getting this invested in my love life, but I’m neck-deep in twenty-six-to-forty-eight-year-old eligible bachelors and just do not have the time. “It was a work thing,” I say, and then add, “With Fizzy.”
The line goes quiet; I can practically hear Nat’s grin. I regret the clarification immediately.
“Ah,” she says. “So it’s Fizzy now.”
My first instinct is to tell Nat it was nothing, but I’ve never been able to keep anything from her. We turned into adults together. We’re forever connected through Stevie. She’s seen me at my best and my worst, knows me better than anyone, and loves me anyway. Ducking into a vacant office, I close the door behind me.
“It’s not as exciting as it sounds.” Then why is my heart beating like I walked the eight flights up here instead of taking the lift? “All right, maybe it is, but it shouldn’t be. We spent the evening together after her book signing and talked about the show over dinner. Then she, uh… she invited me to spend the night.”