Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
With a devilish grin, Connor finally quiets.
“So, what’s on the menu for tonight?” I ask, steering the conversation away from Connor’s needling and stories of Ronan’s past sexcapades.
“No clue. I was told I have to be here, so I’m here. I’m sure it’ll be good, though.” Ronan’s fingers trace a circle on my back before his palm settles there again.
I stifle my sigh of contentment.
“Fuck, I hope it’s not like that weird shit they had at the wedding,” Connor complains. “What was it called again? Those flying fish eggs.”
Ronan chuckles. “Tobiko.”
“They had that weird crunchy popping texture.” Connor’s face morphs with disgust. “I’ll try anything once, but, man, I’d rather drink a glass full of cum than ever put those in my mouth again.”
I grimace.
“Yeah, see?” He points at my face. “That’s me, but with tobiko.”
“Did I say he cleans up well?” Ronan shakes his head at his friend as we swing right and out of a set of doors
“Wow.” It slips out from my lips unbidden.
“Right?” Ronan nods in agreement as we take in the hotel’s outdoor bar that overlooks the beach and the gulf waters. I’ve seen it from the other side, while walking along the shoreline, but the vista from this angle is decadent.
The color scheme is sand and gold, which only amplifies the idyllic view of the fiery sunset descending into the water horizon. Palm trees sway above while an expanse of stonework allows for various levels, maximizing the opportunity for a good view. Front and center is a square bar with a roof above and seating all around to accommodate at least two dozen patrons.
Twenty or so well-dressed people mill around, chattering in small groups, while a server in a blush-colored uniform weaves around with a platter. I see what Ronan means now, about my dress matching the hotel’s color scheme. Not quite, but close.
“Sliders. Now, that’s what I’m talking about.” Connor charges away, leaving Ronan and me alone.
“He seems very food motivated,” I note as we watch him carve a path through people.
“Yeah, I had a golden retriever just like him when I was a kid. His name was Pickles. You couldn’t trust him with food on the counter, and he humped a lot of legs.” Ronan shifts his stance to face me. “You seem on edge tonight.”
“Do I?” I shouldn’t be surprised. I have a lot going on—this surprise pregnancy, crashing my archenemy’s dinner party, dating a guy who enjoys casual threesomes with his best friend. “Wouldn’t you be if you were about to meet Henry Wolf for the first time?”
He studies me for a few beats. “You sure that’s all it is?” Ronan is too perceptive, far more than I expected. But I should have. I’ve had him pegged all wrong since the moment he stepped into the Sea Witch.
I decide to flip it around. “Why? What do you think I’m on edge about?”
He steps in closer, his fingertips toying with the gauzy material in my dress. “Does Connor make you uncomfortable?”
“No.” The truth is he doesn’t, despite his boisterous personality and invasion of personal space. There is something oddly comfortable about being around them.
“Is it because of what I told you about Connor yesterday?”
“You mean your penchant for threesomes?” No point being vague.
A hint of a smile curves his lips. “I don’t know if I’d call it a penchant.”
“What would you call it, then?”
“More like a drunken ‘sure, fuck it, why not’ situation.”
“Funny, my drunken ‘sure, fuck it, why not’ situations usually involve ordering extra meat on my pizza.”
“Doesn’t sound too different.” Ronan smirks.
“Oh my God.” My face flushes as we both share a laugh at the double entendre I didn’t intend.
But I can’t let it go yet. “And how often do you find yourself in that sort of situation?” Because I need to know what I’m getting myself into, if I’m setting myself up for a guy who’s not ready to give up that lifestyle.
His humor slides off as a somberness takes over. “Over a year now. Since Abbi and Henry’s wedding.”
“At a wedding? I mean, how’d it happen?” How do these two friends end up in these compromising positions?
“You want details?” he asks skeptically.
“I don’t know,” I giggle nervously. “Maybe?” Is it curiosity about this man or a need to prepare for pitfalls, because I’m quickly seeing how a few drinks around them could lead to all kinds of unexpected things.
Ronan falters. “I don’t share specifics. It feels wrong.”
“Oh, right. Of course.” Ryan did warn that Ronan doesn’t kiss and tell. Still, an unexpected wave of disappointment washes over me that he won’t be open with me.
Ronan cocks his head as he studies me for a few beats. “But you’re the type that needs to know, aren’t you?”
I swallow. “Yeah, I think I am.”
He pauses, his lips pursed. “It wasn’t a—”