Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“Stop it,” I say, smacking the top of his hand. “You know I wouldn’t do that.”
Jack runs his tongue along his bottom lip. “You didn’t answer her question.”
“Whose?”
“Billie’s.”
My brows tug together. “What question?”
“What kind of guy would be your perfect man? What does Lauren Reed think is hot?” he asks, his gaze pinning me to my seat.
I’m going to kill Billie.
I’m not sure what kind of game Jack is playing. What does it matter what I think is hot? I have no clue why he’s pushing the topic, but I do know I’m not going to sit here and let him think he’s putting me on the spot or getting the best of me.
I go with the first thing that crosses my mind.
“A man standing at the sink, shirtless, doing dishes.” I groan for effect, leaning my head back so the ends of my hair swish against his forearms. “That image stirs something inside me that I thought was dead.”
He flexes his arms, effectively shooing me away from him. “You’re pushing it, Lo.”
“Oh, what do you care?” I ask, sitting up. “It’s not like you’re interested in what turns me on.”
Jack’s hand drags across the top of the chair, the side of his palm skimming the skin exposed around my tank top. “You’d love for that to be true, wouldn’t you?”
“On that note, I’m going to go. Jack . . . be smart,” Billie says. “I like you, big guy. It would pain me to have to help dig your grave. But have no doubt—I would. And I’d get away with it.” She walks toward the door. “See, Lauren? It’s only concerning when you don’t need it.”
Jack holds his hands up, palms out in defense, making Billie and me laugh. The sound catches me off guard. There hasn’t been much laughter between the three of us in a long time.
“Be careful going home,” I say.
“I will. Call me later.” She backs toward the doorway, stepping over her pile of cardboard. “Bye, guys.”
She waves and then disappears into the hallway.
The energy in the room shifts as soon as Jack and I are alone. It’s hotter. Thicker. The humidity amps up another level, and my skin dots with perspiration.
Jack moves until he’s a few feet away, putting some much-needed space between us. I can’t quite read what he’s thinking, but whatever it is, it causes his eyes to host a golden sparkle that makes my stomach knot.
“What are all of those boxes?” Jack asks, nodding to the mess.
“Scrapbooking supplies.” I stand and begin to shove the remaining items into containers. “If you haven’t heard, my business blew up over the last couple of months. I was on a huge morning cable show recently.”
Jack takes a Coke out of the mini fridge next to my desk. “I heard something about that.”
I lift a brow. What the heck does that mean? “You heard something about that?”
“Yeah,” he says, his eyes finding mine. “I heard my wife was hot from every fucking person that came into the shop.”
I hold his gaze, my cheeks warming. “Oh.”
“What did you think was going to happen?” A grin flirts against his lips. “Beauty and brains always catch men’s attention.”
What?
My brain misfires as it tries to wrap itself around his statement, but he doesn’t give me time to figure it out.
“The guys were showing me some of the comments on your social media posts,” he says, the grin vanishing as quickly as it appeared. “Who are those fucking people?”
It’s my turn to grin. “Customers. Maddie calls them my fans.”
“Do you read those comments? Because some of those ‘fans’ need to take a step back.”
“You think that’s bad?” I ask, lifting a brow. “You should see my inbox. There are men, and a woman or two, that go into explicit detail about the things they’d like to do to me in my craft room—and not all of them are legal.”
I don’t know if it’s possible to open a can with force, but the snap of the tab dominates the small room.
“Well, I hope it makes you happy,” Jack says before taking a drink. He watches me over the rim of the soda. “God knows that’s something I can’t do anymore.”
“Typing out a response on social media does take more effort than you’re willing to give.”
He narrows his eyes.
“Oh, don’t get pissy,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’ve forgotten what your dick looks like. I’m not comparing them or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“No, Lauren, that’s not what I’m worried about.”
I hum as if I don’t care. And I don’t. Not really.
“You need to ban those idiots,” Jack says. “People are ridiculous. Who knows who might show up late one night with bad intentions? I want to go to sleep knowing that you and the kids are safe.”
Damn it. I blow out a breath as my urge to argue with him—the survival mechanism I’ve developed over the last few years—wanes.