Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Is that a woody against my thigh?
I want to die a thousand deaths at the moment, a thousand frigging deaths. Slowly, ever so slowly, I pull all my appendages away from his body and roll over onto my back.
“Sorry.” What the hell else is there to say? When he doesn’t answer right away, I brave a sideways glance.
“It’s fine.”
“Why didn’t you wake me…push me off?” Punch me in the face––it would’ve been less humiliating.
“You were comfortable.”
Without meeting his eyes again, I scurry into the bathroom with my tail tucked. “Taking a quick shower.”
Twenty minutes later, after a long shower, I’ve mostly recovered from my bout of shame. It’s so strange sharing a room with a man again. It reminds me of Matt, the first time I’ve given him a thought in the last three weeks. I guess this is just one more step in the grieving process. Maybe I should thank Calvin for helping me with it because I can’t imagine ever doing this willingly with another man.
I step out of the bathroom wearing a large robe I found on the back of the door, and find Calvin in the process of stripping out of his t-shirt like he gets paid to do it. I’m instantly rooted to the spot on the carpet. Do I turn around and go back into the bathroom? Do I say something? He lifts it over his head and a wall of cobbled muscles swiftly kicks me in the organs that make babies. Not like I haven’t seen them before, but I was never allowed to stare. I’m staring now.
The words “breeding stock” come to mind––no doubt they thought of him when they coined the term. I might have sworn off men for all eternity, but I still have all my reproductive parts intact and they are presently rousing from deep hibernation. I can almost hear them sputtering on in the same manner my grandmother’s forty year old Lincoln Continental used to every Sunday when she drove it to church. Not five minutes after I’ve stepped out of a shower, my pits are sweating heavily.
His head pops up, and I quickly look away.
“Bathroom’s all yours,” I mumble. Taking his stuff, he shuts the door behind him. Thank frigging heaven.
Inside the Barneys garment bag is one of the most beautiful dresses I’ve ever seen. A pink, gauzy Valentino creation that I’m scared to touch because I’m certain it costs a small fortune. I’m convinced it won’t fit. And yet as I zip it up, I’m shocked to learn that it fits perfectly. How Zoolander even got my size right is beyond me. Also, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.
Without fanfare, I pull my long hair back, slap on some mascara, and apply lipgloss. I’m ready to go to Sam’s room when Cal steps out of the bathroom wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist. I give myself major props for managing to keep my eyes fixed firmly on his face.
“I don’t know how you got my size right––and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know––however, thank you for the dress. Playing your pretend girlfriend isn’t such a hardship in this,” I say, glancing down at the pink gauzy silk swishing around my legs. My eyes lift and I realize he’s scowling. “It’s a joke, Cal.” Still scowling. “Obviously, a poor one––I’m thanking you for the dress. It’s very generous of you.” I get one of his signature short nods and he walks off to get dressed. “I’ll go get Sam,” I say over my shoulder. Well, that was weird.
Chapter Thirteen
Sam is one handsome young man dressed in his gray dress pants and blue dress shirt. He hands me his tie and I make quick work of it. After he slips on his loafers, we go in search of Calvin.
Guests have been steadily arriving. The din emanating from the backyard reaches well into the large house. Calvin steps out of the bedroom just as we’re passing. He’s wearing a three-piece, dark gray suit with a pearl gray shirt and black tie. If this football thing doesn’t work out, he definitely has a future as a fashion model.
“Ready?” I ask. A short nod later and I’m taking Sam’s hand again.
In the backyard, a who’s who of professional athletes in a variety of sports, a couple of team owners, and other industry professionals mingle like they all know each other well. You can smell the money wafting off these people. The thought makes my steps falter. Right about now I’m feeling like a real fugazi. Cal’s observant eyes catch the reticent look on my face. Scowling, he takes my hand, and pulls me and Sam through the crowd.
A stunning trellis covered in hanging wisteria, along with rows and rows of white chairs, sets the scene for the service. Acres of green lawn back right up to a deserted beach. Soft jazz plays in the background. Not only does every detail scream money and class, but worse yet, full blown romance. And not of the over the top kind. The kind that every female, even the cynical ones, melts over.