Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Corbin: Very.
Fine, I engaged a little. But I quickly add another text.
Corbin: Now, do I need to rely on Google, or are you the best market researcher in the bakery world? Like you said you were.
Mabel: Obviously, I am the best. I would go to Sweet Cheeks.
I snort-laugh.
Corbin: Is that name for real?
Mabel: Google it.
I do, then I place the order as the plane takes off, leaving the desert behind and hurtling toward the coast. After I set my phone down, I grab my tablet, so I can work on recipes, when I catch a stupid grin on Riggs’s face.
I know what kind of grin that is. I’d bet good money he’s texting a woman.
And since he’s not bothering to hide his phone, I do what I must—ignore my tablet and check out his screen. The message says I’m so excited to meet you in person too!!! with triple exclamation points courtesy of the sender. This is like a wide-open net and nothing but ice.
I clear my throat. “How much did you bribe the Romance Beach hostess for that meeting?”
He flips the phone over, smirks, then makes an O with his thumb and forefinger. “Zero. I used my brain,” he says, tapping his temple. “I sent a gift to her—well, to her PR team—along with a card. She has a thing for otters, and I found an otter necklace.”
I stand corrected. “Holy shit. I was messing with you. But you’re really talking to her?”
The smirk widens. “Yep. We have a date when we’re back in town.”
Talk about persistence. “Good on you,” I say, offering him a fist for knocking.
“Thanks. I’m a little excited,” he says. “Her work is awesome. She’s not just a hostess. She’s an actress. And she’s done some streaming rom-coms.”
As he goes on about Sapphire’s talent and emotional range, I’m ready to make Fanboy his new nickname. But I’ll wait till he actually goes out with her.
“Make sure you wear something stylish for the first date. I mean, you do have a rep as a stylish motherfucker.”
He runs a hand down his tie with fall leaves on it. “I’m going to look so damn good for her.”
Once we’re checked into The Resort hotel on the beach, I gather Riggs, Miller, and Ivan in my room and tell them the plan as they lounge on the couch.
Ivan rubs his big palms together. “Henrik would seriously kill to be a part of this. Sucks to be him.”
“If your husband ever gets traded from Seattle to San Francisco, he can join us,” I say.
“Sure, that’s what we’ll be doing if he gets traded. Team pranks,” Ivan says dryly.
“This is no prank, men,” Riggs says, popping up from the couch.
“That’s right,” Miller seconds. “This is serious business.”
Like a heist crew, we gather the materials and enlist some extra help. We snag a room service tray, and on it we set the box of cupcakes we picked up from the bakery. Then, we convince a hotel bartender named Kara to place the call from the bar, since we need it to come from a hotel phone.
It’s possible that a big tip helps convince her.
When she’s ready, we’re ready.
Riggs waits in the bar with Kara, texting us that she’s making the call, while Ivan, Miller, and I wait outside Lake’s hotel room. When she lobs the call, saying there’s a special delivery heading his way of a dozen cupcakes from Sweet Cheeks, courtesy of his agent, Miller slides the tray quietly in front of the door.
He knocks and says, octaves higher than his own register, “Sweet Cheeks for my favorite client.”
Like a dog lured out of his den, Lake swings open the door, pokes his head out, and—bam.
Target acquired.
“Winger-napping,” I declare, slipping the pillowcase over his head.
“Are you kidding me?”
“Not one bit,” I reply then hoist him up by the shoulders while Ivan grabs his legs, and we carry him down to a waiting Lyft.
Lake thrusts both arms in the air and struts like a peacock across the lawn where he’s vanquished us in mere minutes. “And that’s how you do it.”
I shake my head. “Are you kidding me? Have you been secretly playing?”
Lake scoffs. “Nope. I’m just that good, boys.”
“I bet you played us,” Miller says, slumping into a lawn chair at our table at the Back Porch Pub, a mile from the hotel. “All that time claiming you didn’t want to go while you were secretly practicing so you could show us up.”
Rolling his eyes, Lake runs a hand through his longish hair. “First time, baby. First fucking time. The sooner you accept my supremacy in all things, the happier you’ll be.”
“No. I challenge you to a rematch,” Ivan says, cracking his knuckles and looking fearsome. He’s a defender, and that’s part of the job.
Lake just shrugs. “Fine, if you want to be dragged again, feel free.”