Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
“Hollis mentioned you might be our roomie for the week,” Rhys says.
Already? We only just discussed it minutes ago. I look to Hollis again, trying to get my bearings. “You did?”
“I texted them that you were here. I wanted them to know we might have a guest.”
There’s that word again—guest.
Not roomie. But guest. Like I’m someone special staying with them.
“But I didn’t say yes,” I point out but I’m not sure why I’m arguing semantics. Maybe because I’m not that sure of anything right now.
“So, are we all sharing this house for the next week or what?” Gavin asks, nodding to the inside, clearly ready for a verdict.
Hollis meets my gaze once more, looking like he did last night when he asked May I. Open, considerate. “It’s up to you, Briar,” he says, but there’s a glint in his blue eyes. It’s hopeful and a little naughty at the same time.
Pretty sure he does want another chance with me.
Do I want to take one? I don’t know what I want anymore, especially when I feel so unmoored. And so overwhelmed.
I picture the next several days—me shacking up in a house with three hot hockey stars while I pretend I don’t want to ride the guy from last night.
While his friends watch.
While his friends touch me too.
I feel like I’m wearing these new potent wishes on my face.
I try to clear my thoughts and my voice, hoping I don’t sound husky as I say, “Sure.” Then I adjust my ponytail, brush a hand over the side of my sports bra, and check the time. “I should, um, get over to the festival. You guys just let me know where to sleep.”
I spin around and race-walk to my room, Donut following. I shut the door behind us with a loud snick, then slump against it, trying to catch my breath.
There’s a whole new tension in the cottage now, but I’m not sure I can blame what happened last night…or what didn’t happen.
My heart races. I’ve got to calm down. To focus on the day ahead of me. The classes I’m holding. The promotional opportunities for my fitness brand. The chance to get my name out there so I can launch my app.
Not these dangerous thoughts of the guys on the rival hockey team circling me, prowling around me, touching me.
I rush to the en-suite bathroom, splashing cold water on my face over and over. I stare in the mirror at my pinkened cheeks. “It’s fine. You’re a pro. You worked with them before. You’re not going to do anything more with Hollis. Or the others. You’re not attracted to three guys all of a sudden.” I look down at Donut. “Right?”
She just jumps—her answer for everything.
Shoving this inconvenient attraction out of my head, I return to the living room where I find the guys in the kitchen negotiating the two bedrooms and the loft. “I’ll take the futon,” Gavin says, pointing upstairs.
“Gee. Who gets the couch then?” Rhys asks, nodding toward the blue sofa.
Gavin takes a beat before answering drolly, “I wasn’t saying you should take the couch.”
I’m almost afraid to ask what Gavin was saying.
I clear my throat as I scurry over to the counter to toss the banana rind into the compost bin. “Hi! I’m taking off with Donut. Just let me know if I can get anything for the house. Groceries? Fruit? Cucumbers? Eggplants? More bananas?”
What was that? I shut the hell up immediately.
“I’ll get some food and stuff. We can all have dinner tonight. I’ll cook,” Gavin offers. Then, he smirks. “But I was just saying maybe you and Rhys can share the king-size bed.”
He says it so innocently. Too innocently.
But there’s no way that’s happening. Rhys lifts a finger like he’s about to speak, but before any of these guys can say another word, I wave quickly in the direction of the garage. “I’ll sleep in the tiny house. I’ll move my things later. And I can help in the kitchen,” I say, speeding right past the musical beds and into how to stay busy when sharing a small space with three sexy men I’m suddenly fantasizing about. “I like to cook.”
Rhys advances closer to me, his dark eyes intense. “Briar, you’re not sleeping in the tiny house,” he says, an order. A firm one.
“I don’t mind,” I say, even though I never checked it out. I didn’t need to since for the last week I’ve had the main bedroom and the king-size bed all to myself.
“I looked this place up online after it was booked. There’s no toilet in the tiny house. No man”—he pauses, reconsiders—“no decent man is going to let a woman, let alone a woman who’s our guest, stay there. We’re also not the kind of blokes who are going to kick you out of your room. So I have a plan.”