Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Andie Crenshaw is tired of being “untouched.” When her best friends propose a high-stakes bet to see who can lose their v-card first, she’s determined to win. She wants her first time to be unforgettable, but she never imagined it would be with a man like Thomas Moreland.
Thomas is a force of nature–a billionaire powerhouse with a commanding presence and a body that belongs in a museum. He’s devastatingly handsome, ruggedly built, and possessive in a way that makes Andie’s blood sing. But it’s not just his status or his piercing gaze that leaves her breathless; it’s the sheer, massive reality of him. The alpha male’s built like a god, thick and long, promising a level of intensity that Andie’s virgin body isn’t prepared for, but desperately craves.
After one night of earth-shattering, high-heat passion, Andie thinks she’s won the jackpot. That is, until the lights come up and the truth comes out.
The man who just claimed her in the most primal way possible isn’t just a stranger. He’s a college trustee, a titan of industry, and–most forbidden of all–he’s her best friend’s dad.
Andie’s technically won the bet, but the prize is more dangerous than she ever imagined. Falling for her best friend’s father is a scandal that could ruin everything, especially when Thomas decides that one night wasn’t enough. The billionaire wants to own her, and he always claims what belongs to him.
The Bet is a scorching, age-gap romance featuring a massive, dominant hero, a saucy co-ed with a naughty mouth, and a wager that goes deliciously wrong. It’s a best friend’s dad romance with so many steamy scenes, you’ll need an ice cold drink to keep down the heat as you read! This book is a follow-up to Office Hours, but like all of my stories, can be read out of order as a standalone. HEA guaranteed. 80k words
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1
THE WAGER
Andie
I’m pretty sure if the Minneapolis Fire Marshal ever poked his head in my dorm room, he’d condemn it immediately. It’s square, tiny, with poor ventilation, and it looks like a small pack of raccoons have been living here for a semester, when actually, it’s just me and my buddy, Simone.
Even crazier, I haven’t seen Simone in forever because she’s engaged in a torrid affair with her English Professor, Liam Thomas. I get it because that guy is H-O-T in capital letters, but still, he’s old. Professor Thomas is at least thirty-five, but from the way Simone moons over him, it’s clear that age is nothing but a number to that girl.
So yes, my buddy is AWOL once again (probably because she’s with her boyfriend), and I’m taking the opportunity to lounge around the room with three of my closest friends—Stella Moreland, Mary Kate Ashton, and Kayleigh McEnroe.
There’s not a clean surface in sight. Textbooks are stacked like makeshift barricades. A web of phone chargers snags around the bedposts. The air is a humid mixture of coconut body lotion, Bath & Body Works body spray, and the persistent undertone of microwave popcorn, which is Kayleigh’s primary food group. There are enough empty Diet Coke cans on my desk to build a scale model of the Minneapolis skyline. My own reflection in the smudgy window gives me a look of mild panic and perpetual sleep deprivation—cute, in a midwestern, Girl Next Door About To Lose Her Shit kind of way.
Stella’s on my bed, cross-legged, blonde hair spilling over her shoulder in a messy braid that’s about three hours from coming totally undone. She’s painting her toenails neon orange, meticulous and unhurried. Kayleigh’s perched on my desk chair, bare feet up on my dresser, scrolling through TikTok with an expression that’s half-zoned, half-murderous. Mary Kate’s sprawled on the floor, knees up, eating Goldfish crackers one by one while she reads a battered paperback romance. All of us are variations on the same theme: curvy girls who are Minnesota nice with a side of passive aggression. If we ever committed a murder, the lineup would be an administrative nightmare.
Again, the only one missing is my roommate Simone, whose drama is the reason we’re having this impromptu girls’ summit in the room. When Kayleigh finally puts her phone down on my dresser, it’s with the exasperated flourish of a sitcom mom whose kids won’t stop bickering.
“Okay, can we talk about how that girl has been MIA for, like, ever? I don’t think I’ve seen her in class for like two weeks,” Kayleigh says, flipping her ponytail with the athletic aggression of someone who played volleyball in high school and still doesn’t understand why she didn’t get recruited.
Mary Kate makes a little tsk sound, but doesn’t look up from her book. “She was here at six this morning,” she says, “crying in the shower. I could hear it as I brushed my teeth.”
Stella’s braid swings as she looks up, her mouth puckered with concentration. “Did she say what happened?”
I roll my eyes so hard I can practically see my own brain stem. “Nothing happened. Or, more specifically, the same thing that’s been happening for the last, oh, I don’t know—” I check my phone for dramatic effect. “Eight weeks and four days.”
Kayleigh snorts. “Simone and Professor Daddy Drama?”
I reach for the giant economy-size bag of Cheetos under my bed and try to resist the urge to just stuff my face into it. “Girlfriend’s not even subtle about it anymore. I mean, this morning she said she was going to ‘study’ at the library. In full makeup, a miniskirt, and over-the-knee boots. Who studies like that? She looked like a discount Kylie Jenner.”
Mary Kate giggles, but Stella looks a little scandalized. “You think she’s sleeping with Professor Thomas?”
I fish out a fistful of Cheetos and savor the satisfying crackle. “Sleeping with him, fighting with him, possibly plotting to kill him. All of the above.”
Kayleigh leans forward, hungry for gossip. “Okay but like, isn’t he supposed to be married?”
“No, he’s divorced,” I correct, dusting neon orange powder onto my yoga pants. “I know that for sure. But allegedly he’s knocked up a couple girls around campus, or something messy like that. Simone says it’s ‘complicated,’ but honestly, the only thing complicated is her taste in men.”
There’s a lull while Mary Kate tries and fails to surreptitiously snap a selfie, pretending to show off her “new lip gloss” to her 3000 Instagram followers, but I can see she’s trying to catch me mid-Cheeto. I flip her off with a cheesy finger, which makes Stella giggle so hard she wobbles the nail polish brush and gets polish on her ankle.
“Simone’s been so moody lately,” Mary Kate says, finally putting her phone down and focusing on the conversation. “Yesterday she came back from class and just, like, walked past me in the hall. No eye contact, no hello, no nothing.”