Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“Of course.”
Ella takes a small sip of her drink, looking expectantly at Brock. “If you have something to say, say it.”
Renn and I hold our drinks and air toast, settling in for the show.
Ella and Brock banter back and forth, their voices sharp yet hushed. It’s impossible on a good day to follow along when they’re like this. But I don't bother trying after the two tequila drinks I’ve already consumed—two more than usual. Instead, I swirl my beverage around the glass and watch Renn across the table. Damn, he’s gorgeous. His black shirt makes his hair appear darker and his eyes more mysterious. His lips more kissable.
My heartbeat quickens. A welcome warmth spreads like a full-body blush, eventually pooling the heat between my legs. My shoulders fall, giving up any tension still in them, and I sigh happily. Maybe I should drink tequila more often.
Renn sets his glass on the table, his brows pulling together. “You good, Blakely?”
“Yeah. I’m great.” I smile from ear to ear. “Nice and relaxed.”
We exchange a grin that amplifies the fire in my veins.
“Are you two about ready to head back to the room?” Brock asks, intruding into our moment.
I snort. “I’m not leaving this drink. There’s one hundred fifty dollars’ worth of alcohol in here. Besides, tonight is supposed to be fun. Remember?”
“Well, your brother put an end to that,” Ella says, giggling as Brock grabs her thigh. “Or maybe not.”
“You want a show? Let’s buy a bottle of oil on the way to the room,” Brock tells her. “I’ll give you a fucking show.”
Ella grins back at him. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
“What’s that gonna do for me?” I ask, quickly lowering my voice. “It’s always Ella, Ella, Ella. It’s my freaking birthday.”
Renn smirks. “We’ll buy a bottle of oil too. Don’t worry.”
Count. Me. In.
“The hell you will,” Brock says before downing the rest of his drink and setting it down with a thud. “All three of you are giving me a fucking headache.”
I sigh dramatically. “Again, you weren’t invited to this party. You’re free to leave, and Ella and I can pursue our objective of making this a night to remember.”
Renn chuckles, sharing in my amusement. “How about this? Brock, why don’t you and Ella go back to the suite. Make up so we can have a fun day tomorrow.” He turns his attention on me. “And I’ll stay with Blakely. We’ll finish our drinks and maybe get some ice cream since we promised her that—”
“That’s not due until tomorrow,” I say, trying to point at him, but my finger hangs unsteadily in the air. “My birthday is tomorrow. Tonight is my birthday prelationship.”
Ella groans, holding her forehead.
“Your what?” Renn asks.
“My birthday prelationship. It’s the stage …” My brain is too cloudy to make it make sense—even though I’m sure it does. “It’s the lead-up to my birthday where expectations are met. Or not. Or … something.”
I cock my head to the side and try to think that through. I swear it makes sense.
Brock looks at me warily. “Why don’t you go back with us?”
“Because I’m finishing this drink,” I say. Because I don’t want to give up this night because you want to go fuck my best friend.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay with Renn?” he asks.
Renn’s leg moves beneath the table and brushes against mine. I shift in my seat, pressing my palms against my thighs in an attempt to quell the heaviness building in them.
“I think I can handle it,” I say smugly.
“I’ll take care of her.” Renn’s eyes are trained on me. “I promise I’ll get her back in one piece.”
“See, Brock? We all get what we want this way. Stop being a spoilsport and get out of here.”
Ella slides her hand onto Brock’s lap—and that does it. She looks at me and winks.
“I’ll get the bill tomorrow night,” Brock says, helping Ella out of her chair. They start to leave, but he pauses and turns back to the table. “Don’t make me regret this.”
“Oh, come on,” I say. “Stop it. What do you think we’re going to do? Go streaking down the Strip?”
“Hey, I actually haven’t done that before,” Renn says, impressed. “We could give it a go.”
I laugh. “No, because you signed a good boy clause, remember?”
His eyes sparkle. My stomach tightens in a worthless attempt at rebuffing the trouble dancing in them.
Brock lifts a brow, lets it linger on both of us for a long moment as if to seal his point, and then follows Ella through the restaurant.
As soon as he’s gone, Renn and I laugh.
“I love him,” I say before taking a quick sip of Gerald’s concoction. “I really do. But I think I will always be a seventeen-year-old little girl to him.”
“That’s how old you were when your mother passed, right?”