Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
He barely gives me a chance to recover before he’s striding to the counter, so tall and commanding that everyone in the café tracks his every move. Including me. Obviously. Watching Nathan Brennan walk is a religious experience. His shoulders roll beneath that tailored suit with each step while his hips move in a rhythm that belongs on a runway. The way he commands space without saying a word leaves me gripping the edge of my chair, suddenly aware of my own heartbeat between my thighs.
I try to play it cool as he orders, but my thighs have other plans, squeezing together under the table. Oh my God. Get it together, Roni. I drag a hand through my hair and try not to look like I’m about to have a full-blown meltdown over a cinnamon roll and a man who thinks of me as his little sister.
He’s back in seconds, sliding a giant mug of coffee and a cinnamon roll the size of my face across the table. His fingers brush mine, and I have to ignore the goosebumps breaking out all over my body. “Hot out of the oven just for you.” His voice sends electricity flowing down my spine.
“Thank you.” My cheeks go up in flames. No exaggeration. I’m probably giving off enough heat to bake the cinnamon roll all over again.
I try to play it cool, like I’m not five seconds from swooning at the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention.
He sits, his knee brushing mine under the table, and I nearly dump hot coffee on my lap. “How’s work?” he asks, voice pitched low and dangerous. I swear he makes small talk sound like a dirty promise.
I peel off a hunk of cinnamon roll and shove it into my mouth before I accidentally blurt out something stupid. After swallowing the delicious morsel, I wash it down with a sip of hot coffee before responding. “You know. Same as always. Dr. Chin has been a little distracted.” I roll my eyes. “She’s already in vacation mode.” The office is closing for two weeks while she’s on vacation, and I’m practically vibrating with excitement. Fourteen whole days where I can sleep in, watch reality TV, and do nothing at all. Woot. Woot.
Nathan’s lips curve, slow and wicked, and my stomach does a complicated backflip worthy of an Olympic gold medal.
“Two weeks off, huh?” he drawls, eyes locked on mine like he can see right through my shirt and straight into my soul. “What are you gonna do with yourself, Roni Roo?”
Sweet hell. The way he says that stupid nickname… I swear he could make a nun drop her panties just by talking. And yeah, my thighs are clenching again under the table. It’s an ongoing ailment for me.
I shrug, aiming for breezy but mostly managing “awkward turtle.” “Sleep. Eat my body weight in takeout. Maybe finally clean out the closet of doom.”
“What, no wild parties?” His mouth twitches again. “I assumed you’d spend your vacation living dangerously.”
You’d think I’d be used to his teasing by now, but my cheeks still go nuclear. “Please, my idea of fun is catching up on my laundry pile.” I can’t believe I admitted that to Nathan. Time to change the freaking subject before I blurt out any other secrets. Like the fact I’ve been in love with him—forever. “What are your plans for the weekend?”
Nathan's eyes light up as he leans forward. "Same old, same old.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Midnight Mischief is hosting a bachelorette auction to raise money for our Christmas Campaign next weekend, so we’ve been busy getting ready for it." His deep voice caresses the words with pride. Every December, his nightclub transforms into a charity powerhouse, collecting thousands for local underprivileged kids who'd otherwise wake up to nothing under their trees.
"I heard about that," I respond, my fingers freezing mid-tear on my cinnamon roll. Dee’s been trying to get me to take part in the auction, but I’ve been resisting. My heart thuds against my ribs as I consider the idea for the millionth time. Could I actually put myself on that stage? Let men bid on me while Nathan watches? Maybe show him I’m more than his trusty best friend.
My face is probably the color of a tomato. Nathan doesn’t even notice.
He just shrugs, then takes a giant bite of cinnamon roll, barely bothering to chew before he talks. “Eamon came up with it. Last year’s bachelor auction was a freaking gold mine for the fundraiser, so he wanted to see how much we could pull in if we flipped it.” His knee knocks into mine again. There isn’t even a hint of apology, just another casual bump like he owns the bench. “Honestly, I’m expecting a madhouse. Half the town’s already buying tickets.”