Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
I bet those tits are perfect.
Goddammit, she’s so hot.
And those lips? They’re glossy and natural, shimmering in the sunlight streaming through the window, begging me to do naughty things with them, or maybe I’m just a horndog knowing she wanted to sleep with me.
Christ.
Scanning the coffee house, Peyton spots Hunter and me in the back, a slow smile curving her lips when we make eye contact. Then her gaze flickers to Hunter.
She gives us a curt wave before making her way toward us.
It isn’t until she’s seated beside me, and the waft of her citrus perfume hits me. I should have stayed on Hunter’s side of this tiny table.
I’m a fucking moron.
Hunter—that dickhead—stretches one of his jean-covered legs over the spare chair, forcing Peyton to fill the space next to me. As she slides in, her firm little rear end doing a shimmy to get comfortable, I shoot my best friend a look that only garners a perverted wiggle of his eyebrows.
Asshole.
God, I hate him sometimes.
“Well hello, boys.” Peyton’s greeting is flirty and cute, and her slim shoulder brushes mine as she situates herself. Squirms her ass. The last time I’d been this close to her was four weeks ago. Christ. Just thinking about how soft her skin had been as I’d grazed my nose and lips over her neck and cheeks. How much I’d wanted her to turn her head a fraction so I could taste her lips. Every part of me—and I mean every part of me—was tuned into her body. The softness. Her scent. And yet she hadn’t taken the chance I’d thrown at her. Get it together, Blackburn. Business. Meeting. “Hunter, I’m so glad you could make it. I would love to get your perspective on the line.”
He drapes his arm over the empty chair. “Mr. Tightpants here threw a mighty stink about it, too. Went on and on about how he wanted to spend time with you alone, didn’t you, grumpkins?”
What?
“No, I didn’t.” I sound like a freaking child and clear my throat. Starting over, I use a more even tone. “I did not say that.”
“Well, maybe not those words exactly, but you did insist I stay home.” He takes a slow sip of the ice water in front of him. “I think he has a crush on you, Peyton.”
“Hunter,” I snap, because Jesus Christ, why is he like this? Why is he talking? “Be a goddamn professional.”
The bastard shrugs. “When have I ever been professional?” If he had gum in his mouth, he would have snapped it just to piss me off.
We stare each other down, silently communicating:
I’m going to kill you.
No, you’re not. I’m your best friend.
I don’t care if you’re my best friend. You’re a dead man.
You like her. Admit it.
Never.
Peyton taps her pen on the table like a judge bangs his grovel. “Sorry to disrupt this stare down, or pissing match, or whatever it is you two are doing—but I think we should get to work. It’s seven, and this place closes at nine . . .”
From the corner of my eye, I catch a blush on her cheek when she pushes her silky hair behind her delicate ear.
Huh, have I ever noticed that she wears earrings?
And from this angle, her lips are fuller than I expected, her eyelashes long, fluttering open and closed as she sifts through her papers.
My eyes travel down the column of her neck, smooth and long, the perfect length for me to explore. Her collarbones are prominent, guiding my eyes to the tops of her breasts.
I shift in my seat.
From where I’m sitting, the neckline of her shirt is low enough for me to ogle the lace of her white bra supporting her perfectly sized tits. A handful. That’s all I need.
I bet her nipples—
“Yo, lover boy. Her eyes are up here, and the ad campaign is on the table,” Hunter says, a nod to the table, a giant smile on his smug face as I’m caught red-handed.
I adjust in my seat, sit farther from Peyton, and take in the ad copy she’s spread across the table.
Fuck, they’re good.
They’re so much better than what we’ve received from every other agency, including our in-house team.
The colors are vivid and strong, yet feminine. The typeface bold and inspiring, and the photographs she chose from the photo shoot really show off the angle we’re going for; active wear for all types of women.
“So I was hoping to set Roam, Inc. apart from all the other outdoor companies by highlighting its best attributes.” She turns to me and wiggles her eyebrows. Fuck, she’s cute. “Meaning, look at all these gorgeous women.” She lays down picture after picture. “What do all these women have in common?”
“They’re real,” I answer, noticing every shape and size.
“Exactly. They’re real. It was one of the things I loved about this line at first. How you showcased women from every walk of life: old, young, short, tall, curvy, petite. You covered all your bases and put them in all different outdoor gear highlighting their best features. When I saw the pictures for this photo shoot, I kept thinking, this was a social media campaign I was excited to work on because the possibilities of promoting were endless, but along the way, I feel like you lost the vision. You put it on hold, lost momentum, and now that it’s time, you’re at a loss.”