Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“Okay, okay.” He lifts a big hand in surrender. “Given the way I blurted it out, the whole thing sounds ridiculous.”
“I don’t think it would matter how you delivered that bomb. It would still blow up in our faces.”
“Ha.” He turns off the expressway, heading toward Santa Monica Boulevard. An expansive sigh escapes him. “I don’t know how to begin.”
The confession comes out so hopeless that I soften.
“Try the beginning.”
I get a sidelong glare.
Then his shoulders sag. “Let’s start at the fucking infamous chicken dance.”
“That was . . . interesting.”
“Wasn’t it just,” he mutters darkly. “Never living that one down.”
“I admit, I was a little shocked. Drunken dancing on tables doesn’t seem like you.”
“It isn’t.” August rubs the back of his neck with his free hand before putting it back on the steering wheel. His fingers drum an impatient rhythm. “I’ll be honest, Penelope. I don’t know what the hell got into me. It was like I was outside of myself, looking down in horror, begging myself to just stop. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.”
“Sometimes anxiety can lead to acting out of character. It isn’t always about hiding in your room.”
“Are you saying it can also be acting like a complete goober asshole?”
“Maybe. You have a lot on your plate.”
“I should be used to it by now.” The frown is back and darker. “Regardless. I did the deed—deeds. And now I look like an unhinged, undedicated player.”
“Okay.” I’m starting to get the picture, but I can’t quite believe it. I must be wrong. I have to be.
“We had a meeting. My agent, manager, PR, team staff, all that fun stuff.” August swallows audibly. “The consensus was that I need to clean up my newly tarnished image.”
“By getting married?” It comes out in an undignified sort of squeal.
“Well . . .”
“They can’t make you do that!”
“No. It’s more a matter of optics. I buckle down, don’t party, get a nice fiancée so that it appears I’m focused on work and family. That sort of thing.”
“But to get married.”
He holds up a finger. “Engaged. We don’t actually have to marry.”
“Well, at least there’s that.” I spread my hands wide and roll my eyes. When he simply gives me a deadpan look, I forge on. “Why on earth would you ask me of all people?”
His brow quirks. “Why not? What’s wrong with you?”
The man can’t be this obtuse. Honestly, I know he’s smart. Damn it. “Aside from the fact that no one would believe it?”
“You’re kidding, right?” He says this with a hint of laughter in his voice.
“No, that would be you.”
“I don’t understand.”
Must not tackle the quarterback.
“Don’t make me spell it out for you, August.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to because I’m not getting it.”
With a sigh, I close my eyes. “I’m not a model, or an actress. Nor, do I look like one.”
“Penelope.” His voice comes out of the darkness, soft and easy. “I’ve said it before. You’re beautiful.”
One eye opens despite my best effort to remain aloof. “I don’t believe you said ‘beautiful.’”
As though he knows it will be too much for me if he makes any sort of eye contact, his focus remains firmly on the road before us. “So I’ll say it now. You’re beautiful. Besides, I need someone real. Or, should I say, someone who doesn’t have her own public drama.”
“I’ll give you that bit.” I’m allergic to drama. If there’s a hint of it, I run for the hills.
“And I need someone who . . . ah . . . at the risk of sounding vain—”
“Which means you’re going to sound incredibly vain.”
“Cute. But that risk aside, I need someone who won’t fall in love with me or expect forever.”
Silence ticks out.
“Hence, me.”
His big shoulder lifts in a half shrug. “We both know you have never liked me that way. Hell, March and I are similar in looks and you had a huge crush on him but regarded me as . . . a worm.”
“I never—”
“Oh, come on.” At this, he glances my way. “You never liked me.”
I sigh dramatically, if only to distract from any chance that I might be blushing. “I said I like you fine.”
“Yeah, that faint praise is burned on my brain.”
“If you’re fishing for compliments, I suggest you go to the Pier.”
“I really had no idea you were so saucy.” He doesn’t appear to find this a fault.
“Neither did I. Maybe this is a nightmare, and I’ll wake up, plain old quiet Pen.”
“I can pinch you, if you’d like.” He waggles his fingers.
“Not if you want to live.”
“Just a suggestion . . . Where were we?”
“You were complaining about how I liked March better.”
“Right. That. Which means you’re perfect for this. You won’t fall for me. Plus, and this is huge, I trust you. We’ve known each other forever. I know you won’t tell. Or sell your story later down the road.”