Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 27906 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27906 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Tall.
Fit yet curvy.
Great tits.
Striking blue eyes made to pop with blue eyeliner.
Great taste in entertainment along with clothing given that she’s here and wearing the exact same tank as me in a different color.
She’s a ten.
A solid fucking ten.
How could he not be secretly in love with her?
Or…is he and he just doesn’t know it?
Am I her fill in?
Is he using our fake thing to make her jealous?
To make her realize that he’s always been the right one for her?
ForSevenofNinesake, why does that idea piss me off?
And why do I feel like I have no right to be pissed off by it?
I guess I don’t.
I mean I’m the one using him to discourage my ex from continuing to pursue me.
I’m the one who purposely chose what appeared to be the clean cut, well put together, most likely to be voted America’s Sweetheart to make the bad boy, man ho, thinks he can have any woman in the world without trying asshat jealous.
I’m the one who got this fake shit in motion, so I’m definitely the one who has the least claim to being indignant.
Okay, but like I am, anyway.
Totally about to step into the clingy, fuck off, this is my man, role I’ve played before.
Although this time I’m not sure I’ll be pretending for the sake of the media that’s watching.
And of course, they’re watching.
They always are.
Even with J.T. and I both having sent body doubles elsewhere for them to stalk during what we had both planned to be a paparazzi free getaway.
Forcibly swallowing my irritation precedes me playfully elbowing my phony boyfriend. “You failed to mention your best friend was a fucking drop dead gorgeous bish.”
“Aw,” Bryn theatrically coos, “you I TNG approve of him banging unlike that raggedy cunt blowup doll that went Chucky on my family.”
“That’s not…” his head profusely shakes as our stares find each other’s once more. “Th-th-that didn’t…” More head shakes. Stammers. “It…it…wasn’t…” Additional flashes of frustration are accompanied by cringes. “She wasn’t actually a blowup doll.”
“I like those a lot more than I ever did her.”
“I don’t have a blowup doll,” J.T. quickly insists.
“But to be fair I like the orcas in The Voyage Home more than I liked her, and I fucking hate those dolphin demon descendants.”
“I’ve never had a blowup doll,” my pretend partner shamelessly confesses louder than he probably intended considering the random glances he suddenly receives. Redness swiftly seeps into his cheeks prompting him to snip at her, “This is why I hate you.”
“Love me.”
“Tolerate you.”
“Need me.”
“Need space from you.”
“Siblings.” Warm giggles of relief escape into the air. “You two are basically siblings.”
“Yeah,” they retort in tandem, allowing additional reprieve to settle into the situation.
“Nightwing over here has never done it for me.” Her thumb kicks itself towards him while he resumes texting. “But his Bat bestie?” She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, moans, and bounces in place. “That’s my Mr. Wayne. ‘Til death or Day Octopus do us part.”
J.T. momentarily halts typing to uncomfortably claim, “You said they don’t hunt humans.”
“They don’t, but like most creatures in the ocean, they definitely possess FAFO.”
“You told Wes they were safe for us to swim around! That doesn’t sound safe!”
“Is he here too?” I kindly investigate. “Wes?”
“Nah. Mr. Wilcox isn’t really that into Star Trek shit.”
“And you still married him?”
“Right?!” The mirth in her tone gets us both snickering. “Complete grounds for divorce if he doesn’t get his shit together.”
“Absolutely.”
More laughter leaves us both alongside mischievous winking.
This I like.
Not only because it’s nice to be around another female – and don’t feel like we’re competing for the same thing – but because I’ve never had a close chick friend.
That desire was ripped out of me early on.
Kept on the sidelines.
Benched for decades.
Most women I’ve been around can be assigned to one of two teams.
Squad one: Keep your friends close but enemies closer – aka the waiting to stab you in the back for their benefit group.
Squad two: Only close to you to be closer to someone else – aka the waiting for an opportunity to bang your brother group.
It would be great to have a real friend.
And there’s something about Bryn that’s signaling to me she’s a friendly lifeform rather than a hostile one.
I’m grateful for it.
That and she’s clearly happily married given the way she just gushed over her husband.
“Sorry, I couldn’t get a seat closer, Nae,” my brother unexpectedly sighs over my shoulder prompting the entire group to rotate to face him. “But I swear I heard the whole thing.”
There’s no stopping my head from tilting challengingly to one side.
“Okay, not the whole thing, but like most of it.”
The position remains unchanged.
“Half.”
One blink.
“Half of a half.”
A second.
“Half of a half of a half.”
Lifting my brows upward causes his lean, 6’10 frame to crumble forward.
“Okay, fine! I only caught the last three minutes!”