Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“Gage? Gage, come back to us.”
I snapped to, realizing the other guys had ordered and everyone was waiting for me to speak. What were we doing again? Right. Ordering…“Food.”
That dark brow arched again. “Is there a particular type of food you’d like, or should I just guess?”
I let out a thin laugh. “Sorry. It’s been a long night. Ah. A burger would be great. Medium rare. And a shot of your best bourbon.”
She stuck her pad back in the apron tied around her waist and looked at Aidan. “By the way, it’s dead as a doornail.”
“Huh?” Aidan said.
“You said your phone was dead as a doorknob. But the saying is dead as a doornail. I’ve never had the chance to correct a Harvard grad and it sort of just fell into my lap, so I had to take the opportunity.”
Aidan shook his head and pulled his phone up again as if to google it and then dropped it to the table when memory dawned. She turned on her heel and walked away. I watched her hips sway as she walked away. My God.
“She’s misinformed, of course,” Aidan said. “But she sure is one gorgeous piece of—”
“Applesauce.” At the one word that released on a growl, I felt three pairs of eyes turn my way.
Aidan laughed. “Oh shit, Gage has got a thing for the hot bar wench.” He raised his hands as if in surrender and then flashed his wedding band. “Well, lucky for you, I’m already taken, and these two losers couldn’t compete with you on their best day.”
Bar wench. Why did the slight make me want to punch Aidan in the face? Grant and Trent did some mild grumbling in response to Aidan’s comment but neither challenged it. I took a deep breath. I hadn’t even meant to spit out that word, the one we’d agreed to use in college if we were calling dibs on a woman. The one I’d never used even once…until now. It’d just sort of…made its way up my throat of its own accord. Which was completely stupid for a couple of reasons, one being that she didn’t seem to have any interest in me whatsoever. “Listen, we’re eating a meal here and leaving,” I told them. “There’s no competition for anything.” Speaking of which…I caught the woman’s eye as she turned away from the bar with a tray full of drinks and gave her a short wave.
If she thought her eye roll had been discreet, she wasn’t very good at discreet. “Yes?” she asked with contrived sweetness when she arrived back at our table and began setting the cocktails in front of each of us in turn.
“Apparently none of our phones are in working order,” I said. “Do you have one we can use to call this Jim you mentioned who has a tow company?”
“Oh, Jim doesn’t have a tow company, just a personal truck with a hitch on the back.”
I stared. “Okay, well, can I use your phone to call Jim with the truck?”
She shook her head. “Jim’s sleeping by now.” She set the tray down and put her palms on the table, leaning toward me. I caught a whiff of her and without even meaning to, I drew in more of her scent, my gaze drooping as the fragrances separated and drew back together. Orchid. Jasmine. Saltwater. And beneath all that, a delicate understated musk that I couldn’t put my finger on but was the thing that made me woozy. I inched forward, trying to inhale more of it while also maintaining some form of public decorum. “But I’ll tell you what, Ivy League,” she said, breaking me from my fragrance trance, “if you buy the bar a round, I’ll call his wife, Patrice, who’s almost certainly up watching one of her Netflix shows right now, and she’ll rouse him for me.”
Patrice? Who is Patrice? My brain scrambled, quickly putting together what she’d said. Jim. Truck. Patrice. Right. So she was playing games with me. An odd thrill whirled through my blood. I leaned closer until our faces were only inches apart. I narrowed my eyes and in response, she narrowed hers and we engaged in a short stare down, invisible sparks igniting my blood, that delicious smell washing over me, through me. “Are you blackmailing me, Cakes?”
She raised her eyes and put her tongue on her top teeth as though considering my word choice. I almost groaned at the sight of the pink tip of her tongue so close to me but swallowed it down. She pushed up off the table and crossed her arms. “That’s a big word, Ivy League. I demand nothing. The choice is yours.” She sighed as she raised her hands to study her nails. “I just hope Patrice didn’t decide to turn in early on this one. Particular. Night.”