Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
He points, lowering his hand in the general direction of my . . . fresh air.
My ass!
That’s why there’s a breeze.
I slap my hand to my butt, and it’s swinging in the summer breeze. I hurriedly tug my obstinate skirt hem out of the waistband of my panties.
Where it’s been the whole time.
Great. Just great. I’ve been flashing New York City my cheeky black panties with pink cartoon devils on them since I hightailed it out of my home.
My other cheeks heat, my face surely the shade of a candy apple. Setting my dog down, I swing around, smoothing my skirt one more time when StudMuffin barks, lunging at the bike. I spin back to grab him but as I whirl, the contents of my pockets clatter to the sidewalk.
Ugh.
This is not my day.
Squatting, I reach for the lipstick, its brand name like an advertisement for all my naughty fantasies—Come to Bed Red. Yup, I’m a beet now. Holding the bike, he bends to grab the glitter tube.
My swoon meter shoots sky-high. Mister Sexy Pants is a gallant gentleman.
Come to bed, indeed. Maybe he’ll ask for my number next, offer to make me a panini, then indulge my balcony fantasies.
“Here you go,” he says, holding out the glitter, his fingers grazing against mine, and oh my god, the invite is coming in three, two, one . . .
Then the top pops off the tube and a spray of green glitter spews up onto his sexy, whiskery beard. He’s sooo going to rescind the panini and post-panini offer before he even makes it.
“I’m sorry. The tops are kind of . . . kludgy,” I say, as I roam my gaze over his emerald-green beard. He looks like a leprechaun, and why in the holy hell is he still sexy?
Hot guys can get away with anything, but I feel awful. This is all my fault. Obviously. “I’m sorry for the glitter bomb,” I say. This was not how I was supposed to encounter Mister Sexy Pants from the cake shop convo. He was supposed to stride up to me some evening when I looked stunning and smart coming from the office, being all sexy librarian and sandwich-worthy, not like a hot mess express in cheek-revealing panties.
Wincing, I brace myself for him to go all growly dickhead on me and grumble out a “Watch what you’re doing, miss.”
But he flicks some specks off his scruff, then retrieves the top from the ground and hands it to me. “Glitter tops are the worst. Next time, I’ll be sure to give you the number of my glitter dealer,” he says all deadpan and charming, and adding kerosene to my crush.
I take the top, a little dazed as he mounts his wheeled steed then adjusts his helmet. Dipping his head maybe, just maybe, to hide a smile, he mutters pink devils while he rides away.
As I fasten the top back on the glitter, I am officially both mortified and turned on. Which sums up my life in a nutshell.
2
Her Devil Butt
Milo
* * *
I’m sure there’s a video on YouTube showing how to de-glitter a beard in less than ten seconds.
But right now I’m concentrating on making it to the offices of Moneygrubber & Mercenary on my bike in one piece.
I need to dodge a parked taxi hellbent on door-prizing me. But the cool robotic voice of my LiDAR app warns me that now would be a good time to die if I speed up just as a bus rumbles in the lane next to me. I slow my pace, and once the bus passes, I whoosh by the taxi, my peripheral vision catching a glimpse of the driver idling and smoking a cigarette.
People are the worst.
But do I flip him off? No. Because I am a good guy, contrary to what my ex’s menagerie of exes would have the world believe.
I keep pace with traffic on Seventh Avenue for a few blocks until I reach my destination. I slow, then jump to the sidewalk and hop off my bike.
With a wary gulp, I stare up at the ominous black building straight out of a comic book. Cue the Meanwhile, inside the villain’s lair caption. So fitting. I groan, then groan again. And maybe one more time.
Best to get all my annoyed groans out of my system before I head into arbitration with Miss Lie Her Pants Off Callie.
I bet Miss Cute Devil Butt is nothing like my ex. Hell, she was a delight to chat with that day at the cake shop when I subbed for my buddy. And she upped the ante today, calling me Stud Muffin, after all. Gotta give her points for directness, and that’s the total opposite of Callie. Plus, the Glitter Bomber likes dogs for real and looked hella hot clutching her little Chihuahua, so I’ll award her a few more points.