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)
“What do you want us to do?” I ask. “Stand in the hallway?”
“Fuck that. Take your fifteen in the suite, and I’ll help Blakely get their luggage,” Renn says.
Brock stares at him, unblinking.
“What? I’m being helpful. Do you want to fuck Ella in private or not?”
“Just announce it to the world, Renn,” Ella mumbles as a couple walks behind us. Unfortunately, her attempt at discretion fails.
“Uh, excuse me,” the man says, lightly tapping my brother on the shoulder. “Are you Renn Brewer and Brock Evans, by any chance?”
Ella slips away from Brock and follows me into our room because we know the drill. Fanboying, pictures, and a rehashing of the guys’ stats. An inquiry into the proposed expansion of the American Rugby League will follow this. A handshake so long that it’s painfully awkward will close the encounter—if they manage not to draw a crowd. If they do, it’s rinse and repeat.
“All of our unpacking for nothing,” I say, surveying the space.
“This room is a mess.” Ella sits on the edge of the bed. “I’ll tell Brock I’m helping you, and then we’ll go up together. I’m not leaving you to deal with this crap.”
“No. Go with him. It’ll be fine.”
“I can’t, with a clear conscience, leave you to do the work on your birthday trip, Blakely. Come on.”
I snort, swiping my Kindle by the lamp and tossing it into my carry-on. “Oh yes. Poor me. Leave me with Renn all alone. Boo-hoo.”
She laughs.
“I’m kidding.” Glancing up, I spot her lifted brow. “Okay, I’m not totally kidding. Things could be worse.”
“May I make an observation?”
“Sure.”
“That man is so into you, Blake.”
I fight a smile. “That man is into everyone, El.”
She rolls her eyes.
“You know it’s true,” I say, venturing to the window.
“Okay, he’s a bit of a playboy. I’ll give you that. But I highly doubt he looks at every woman like he looks at you.”
“It’s just his vibe, Ella. It’s a part of his charm.”
“He doesn’t look at me like that.”
I laugh. “Because Brock would kill him.”
“And he wouldn’t kill him over you?”
Point taken. I don’t look at her, or else she’ll see the dopey grin on my face.
It’s an ego boost to pretend that Renn is seriously into me. Who wouldn’t want to think that the man who could have any woman he wants chose them? His face sells magazines. His body sells apparel. He carries such confidence, such swagger, that the idea of him sells cologne. But pretending is a trap—one I can’t fall into.
Even if I was his type and Brock somehow got on board with it, Renn can’t give me the things I need in this stage of life. Love. Stability. A family.
And I deserve those things. I’m determined for my thirties to be my self-care era. Screwing around with Renn Brewer would certainly be self-sabotage.
The door creaks open.
“Come on, Ella. Let’s get the fuck out of here before we’re pinned down,” Brock says as Renn strides past him.
She gets up and dashes for the door. It slams behind her.
“Are we going to have a fan club out there when we leave?” I ask Renn.
“We mentioned that we aren’t staying on this floor. So I hope not.”
“The downfalls of fame.”
He grins. “It can’t be as bad as over the weekend.”
“How was Miami, anyway?” I ask.
“Aside from getting a police escort to leave the concert, we had a good time. Met up with Tate and Ripley—my other boring brother.”
I look at him and laugh. “How many brothers do you have again?”
“Too fucking many.”
“Are they all boring?”
“They’re all overrated.” He shoves off the wall and takes his phone out of his pocket. “Can you excuse me for a second? Or I can take it in the hall?”
I shrug. “Take it here. It’s fine.”
“Thanks.” He puts the phone to his ear. “Hey, Dad,” he says, then pauses. “No, I did not say that. Ask Tate.” His forehead wrinkles as he listens. “I don’t know where you’re getting your information—wait. I do. Gannon told you that, and he can fuck right off.”
Yikes. I go into the bathroom to give him some privacy.
I try not to eavesdrop as I repack Ella’s and my toiletries. It takes a lot of effort to block out the richness of Renn’s tone and focus on the cream bottles and hair ties instead. His voice raises, then softens. It’s gruff, then smooth. I can only gather that someone, presumably his father, isn’t too happy.
As I zip the last cosmetics bag, I hear him end the call.
“Everything okay?” I ask, shoving a curling wand under one arm and picking up the bags. “Sounds like you’ve been a bad boy.”
I turn the corner, and my feet falter.
Renn is standing next to the dresser with a pair of my yellow panties dangling from his finger.
“I’m always a bad boy. Want a demonstration?” he asks, smirking.