Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 97767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Austin, cheeks flaming, ducks her head and adjusts her dress again, the movement quick and flustered. She tugs the neckline higher, muttering something under her breath that sounds like, "Never wearing this again."
“Sorry, George,” she says, trying to smooth over his ruffled feathers. Her voice is soft, sweet—and entirely unconvincing.
She’s adorable when she’s embarrassed.
“Don’t ‘sorry’ me,” George snaps, pointing a gnarled finger at me. “You. I trusted you with this.”
“Technically,” I say, stepping forward, hands raised in a gesture of innocence. “You trusted me with the Zamboni.”
“You think you’re clever?” He huffs again, his face turning a shade darker. “I don’t care what you call it, just get the hell off my ice before I call security. And next time you’re feeling frisky, take it to a parking lot.”
The parking lot?
Er. He obviously knows jack shit about women if that’s what he considers a romantic gesture.
We walk in silence for a few moments, the sound of her heels clicking softly against the concrete floor. When we reach the hallway leading to the private entrance, she bursts into laughter, her shoulders shaking as she clutches her stomach.
“Oh my God, I can’t believe that just happened. I’m dying, give me a minute,” Austin wheezes, barely able to catch a breath.
I lean against the wall to watch, crossing my arms as she does her darndest to compose herself.
It’s not working.
Her laughter echoes through the empty corridor, bouncing off the cinder block walls.
“Think he’ll let us drive the Zamboni again?” I ask, deadpan.
Austin’s laughter somehow manages to kick up a notch, and she starts gasping for air between the peals.
“Stop. Stop making jokes,” she chokes out, waving a hand at me. “I’m going to pee my pants, I swear.”
I wait her out.
When she finally straightens, her face is flushed and her mascara is smudged from the tears rolling down her cheeks but she doesn’t seem to care.
Her smile hasn’t dimmed—not even a little—and she looks up at me, eyes sparkling and full of mischief.
“Oh my God—we got caught fooling around on the Zamboni. If you would have told me that yesterday, I wouldn’t have believed you.”
I chuckle, pushing myself off the wall and putting my arm around her waist as I guide her toward the exit and our waiting car. “For the record, I’m pretty sure we just broke every rule in George’s imaginary handbook.”
“He’s going to be scarred for life.”
I doubt that.
But I am going to have to apologize—probably with an expensive bottle of whiskey that will make him forget this ever happened.
Ha!
We step out into the cool night air, the crisp breeze wrapping around us and making her shiver slightly. Instinctively, I pull her closer, rubbing her arm as I lead her to the car parked at the curb.
We climb in. Buckle up.
Hold hands in the back seat.
“This was so much better than cake,” she murmurs, her voice just above a whisper—wistful and content. Her words remind me of the promise I made back at the restaurant, but the look in her eyes now tells me she doesn’t feel shortchanged.
Not even close.
I look down at our hands, her fingers warm and snug between mine; I can’t help grinning like a damn fool.
Best fucking night ever.
The driver glances at us in the rearview mirror, his expression carefully neutral, though I can tell he’s curious. “Home, sir?”
I look at her again, letting the question hang in the air between us for a moment. Her cheeks flush slightly under my gaze, she doesn’t look away. Instead, she raises an eyebrow.
“My place?” I suggest, my tone casual, but laced with anticipation.
She doesn’t hesitate. “Only if there’s dessert.”
The corners of my mouth lift into a slow grin. “Oh, there’s dessert.”
Austin gives a curt nod.
Bites her lower lip.
And just like that, the dick between my legs is hard again…
14
austin
His apartment is insane.
No.
Scratch that—this is not an apartment.
Sure, it’s in a building…but Gio is at the top, in the penthouse, and the view is sick. The moment the elevator doors slide open directly into his penthouse, I’m greeted by floor-to-ceiling windows framing a city view so stunning it takes my breath away. The glittering skyline stretches endlessly, like it was pulled straight out of a social media post.
It’s equal to—if not better than—the view from the restaurant.
The open floor plan is sleek but warm, modern without feeling cold. A plush gray sectional dominates the living area, with deep cushions that practically beg to be lounged in. There’s a fireplace built into the wall and a massive TV mounted above it—because of course there is.
He's a guy, isn’t he? They love that shit.
I catch sight of a small bar in the corner, its glass shelves stocked with an impressive collection of liquor bottles. The kitchen, visible off to the side, looks like something out of a cooking show, all stainless steel and glossy countertops.