Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Beckett: Good. I have to go deal with a sick cow, but I’ll talk to you later.
Me: *kissy face emoji*
Me: What are you doing right now?
It’s Wednesday night. I’ve just finished putting the dishes away after dinner, and I’m curled up on the couch with Riley by my side, ready to read more Dom, but I’m missing Beckett. He replies faster than I expected.
Beckett: *photo of himself, no shirt, with a paperback copy of Dom open and lying on his stomach*
I drop my phone with a gasp.
“Holy fecking hell.”
Me: Did you seriously just send me a thirst trap photo?
Beckett: What’s a thirst trap photo?
Me: Exactly what you just sent me! Jesus, warn a girl, Beck.
Beckett: So you’re saying that you like my … book?
He’s funny. With a laugh, I settle deeper into the couch.
Me: Yeah, I like your … book. You bought it?
Beckett: Yes, from Bee. Are you still reading it?
Me: Of course. What part are you on?
I take a drink of sparkling water as the bubbles bounce on my screen.
Beckett: They’re married and at his penthouse. And it’s the following morning, and she just woke up.
He’s not too far behind me.
Me: Poor Val. He tricked her!
Beckett: Yeah, kind of an asshole move.
I smirk and sip more water.
Me: Would you ever tattoo your name on someone while they’re out cold because you drugged them?
Beckett: I’m intense, but I’m not THAT intense, Irish.
Me: THANK FUCK! Talk about red flags. I do like your level of intensity, though.
Beckett: I’m relieved to hear that. I’ll show you more intensity as soon as possible.
Me: Okay, you go read, and I will, too.
Beckett: Good night, beautiful.
Me: Good night.
“Well, don’t you look … happy.” Bee smirks at me and bites her lip, and I can feel my cheeks darken.
“Why wouldn’t I be happy, then?”
“Oh, I’m sure you’re thrilled, friend. Beckett looked pleased with himself when I saw him, too.”
“You saw him? Oh right, when he bought the book.”
Bee pauses, then lets out a laugh. “Yeah, when he bought the spicy romance book that my friend recommended to him.”
“We’re both reading it.” I shrug as if it’s no big deal, but it’s a big fecking deal. My phone pings in my pocket, and I pull it out immediately and read the text from Beckett.
Beckett: Tell me something good.
I grin. Dom sends the same text to Val in the book.
Me: I’m hanging out with your sister right now.
“Come here,” I say to Bee as I open my camera. “Selfie time.”
She wraps her arm around my shoulders, we tip our heads together, and I snap the photo.
“I’m sending this to Beck.”
She’s quiet as I type the message.
Me: *sends selfie* She says hi!
When I glance up, Bee’s staring at me.
“What?”
“So you guys are definitely a thing now, huh?”
Nibbling my lip, I fiddle with the stickers she’s organizing on the counter. “Yes. As far as I’m concerned, we definitely are a thing. I spent last weekend with him.”
Her eyebrows climb as another text comes in.
Beckett: You’re so fucking beautiful, Irish.
I show her the message, and she smiles.
“Okay, that’s swoony.”
“I know.”
“You know, my brother doesn’t invite girls to the farm. Ever.”
“Ever?”
“No. Well, he did once, and that turned into a disaster, so he’s always avoided it. The fact that he took you there means it’s serious for him, too.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “And he’s reading spicy books for you.”
“He read to me last weekend.”
“Now, I hate you.”
Beckett: I’m sorry we can’t spend the weekend together, baby.
I sigh and set my Kindle aside. It’s Friday night, one week since I first went with Beck to his place. I haven’t seen him all week, and I know he’s had a rough time of it with work.
Me: I don’t expect an invitation every weekend.
Beckett: You should. I think I’ve turned the corner with this sick cow. It’s been rough for her.
Me: I’m sorry. What do you do while you sit with her?
Beckett: I read. Text you. Do paperwork. The part when Dom punched his way through that guy’s chest …
Me: Stop! I’m not that far yet! You read ahead of me.
Beckett: Oops. Better catch up, Irish.
Suddenly, the phone rings, but it’s not Beckett. It’s my mother.
“Hello?”
“Hullo, darlin’,” she says. “And what are you about this evening?”
“Wait. It’s the middle of the night for you. What are you about? Is Da all right?”
“He’s fine, and he’s snoring in his bed. I couldn’t sleep,” she admits with a soft sigh. “Are you ready for the benefit dinner in LA next week?”
Scowling, I pick at a string on my leggings. “I’m not going to a benefit dinner.”
“Aye, you are. Your father emailed you about it a month ago.”
“Ma, I can’t just leave. I have a business.”
“It’s only for two days, Skyla. You need to go. Now that you’re not dancing, you can have a bigger presence regarding the charities we’re involved in—especially this one. Dreams for Kids was your idea in the first place, so you should be there. We’ll be raising a lot of money.”