Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
“This one’s fine. As far as bars go.”
His eyes were smoldering. I let my gaze linger lower, trailing down toward his arm. Even his forearms looked strong, the muscle hard under his golden skin.
His neck, too.
I liked the way it looked. I liked the way he moaned when I touched him there, too.
Fuck.
“You know, I really thought I hated you too,” he said, his eyes looking me up and down. “I don’t anymore. Do you have any idea how sexy you are?”
I glanced around the bar.
Peachel was saying all of this even when his boys were nearly within earshot? He really did have something to prove with me. Or maybe he was just doing this because of the alcohol running through his system.
I felt the walls going up again inside me.
Brick by brick.
“Why don’t you date people at TNU, Gilman?” he asked.
“Told you already. I’m here to study, not to get distracted.”
“And I distract you anyway.”
He had me pinned with his gaze.
“Listen. I thought you might need my help here at the bar tonight. If you don’t, then I’m leaving.”
“But if you stay, I’ll give you something.”
“Something for the article?”
His expression softened, almost into sadness.
“Not for the article. Fuck, Gilman, you think it’s all just about that? There’s a whole lot of other things I want to give you.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Yes. And I want to ask you out on a date.”
The walls in me weren’t being built with bricks anymore.
The moment I heard him say that, the walls turned to iron.
With spikes.
And giant fucking padlocks on the gates.
Heat crept up on the back of my neck.
I turned away, reaching for the pool table and pushing at the balls with my hand.
“Quit messing with the billiards. I was still playing that game,” he said.
“No you weren’t. You were too busy saying stupid shit.”
“It’s the truth.”
“We aren’t going to date, Peachel.”
“Give me one good reason why not.”
Anger ripped through me, but I pushed it down.
Back under the walls.
Showing no emotion.
For once, it was strange that him being drunk wasn’t what was upsetting me.
The weird thing about Peachel was that I didn’t get bad vibes from him when he was drunk.
After growing up in bad situations with my mom, drunk people usually stuck in my side like an infected thorn.
Drunk people were loud. Demanding. Incoherent.
Being drunk brought out people’s most repressed traits, but Peachel?
When he was drunk, he only got more affectionate.
He got a little looser.
He lost a little bit of his filter, but the result wasn’t too sloppy or irritating at all. More of the good in him just shined through.
Right now, that was even worse.
His affection made me crazy.
I knew how to handle hate, but affection made me want to jump out of my skin.
“Ok. I’m going home,” I said. “I’ll look forward to you drunk texting me a picture of your cock tonight.”
“Going to drunk text you an invitation to a date,” he said, glancing at me. “Wait. Where the hell is my phone? I swear I need to put a location tag on my own fucking two feet, or something, because I never remember where I put anything—”
I glanced over and saw the shiny black case on the tall table deeper in the alcove, past the pool table.
“It’s right here,” I said.
He sighed. “God, I’m a mess.”
No, you’re adorable, and I don’t know how to deal with it.
I went over to grab it.
When I picked up his phone, the screen automatically flashed on, and I saw a text at the top of his notifications.
New Text Message From: Danny Ennick
Danny: Your dick was better than his, anyway.
Suddenly I felt like I was holding a live wire in my hands.
Holy shit.
I looked back down at the screen.
Quickly.
Gathering information.
Gears turning in my mind.
As a reporter, I usually had to look hard for information.
Find scraps wherever I could. Research for hours and hours, just to find a straggling lead. Dig deep into corners of the internet that may as well have been covered in cobwebs.
But something like this was rare.
Information dropped right into my lap.
Juicy, extremely gossip-worthy information. Something that could instantly make my article into a goddamn weapon, if I chose to let it happen.
Andrew Peachel had apparently hooked up with Coach Ennick’s son.
How could I have not pieced that together at the party?
The moment I handed the phone to Andrew, though, I realized that I was going to have a much more urgent situation to take care of, before I could think about how I should or shouldn’t use the information I’d just been gifted.
Because drunk or not, Andrew was never dumb.
His expression suddenly changed the moment I handed him the phone. He glanced down at the screen like he’d seen a ghost.
He locked eyes with me, his body language changing in an instant.
It was clear he wasn’t 100% sure if I’d seen the text.