Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 102607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
So weak.
So horny.
Her thumb keeps scrolling—absently, like she doesn’t realize she’s slowly destroying me. I slide my hand up her thigh, fingers brushing warm skin beneath my shirt, but her attention doesn’t waver.
“Starshine,” I murmur, lips brushing her ear now, trying to coax a reaction. “I’m literally begging for you.”
Nothing.
Just a hum as she grins at something on her screen. And when I reach to tug the phone out of her hand—playfully, sort of desperately—my eyes flick down for just a second.
Just a second.
And there it is, nestled between her social media apps…
The dating app.
My stomach drops, a quiet sucker punch beneath the arousal.
Fuck.
“What’s this I see?” I ask, trying to keep the mood light. I point to the familiar logo on her screen.
“The dating app,” Nova says matter-of-factly. “I haven’t deleted it yet.” She looks at me again. “Have you?”
Actually, no. Come to think of it, I probably haven’t. Hasn’t crossed my mind since before our first date.
We both stare at each other for a second, processing that. Then—
“Are we the worst?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says, holding out her phone. “But we’re cute, so people forgive us.”
I pick up my phone and we each hold our cells; an unspoken challenge has just been issued.
“Same time?” I ask.
“Obviously.” Nova gives me a grin, nose scrunching as she finds the app.
“Say goodbye,” she sings, holding her finger over the pink icon, poised to tap on it.
“Goodbye long, self-entitled bios and weird gym selfies.”
She snorts. “Goodbye to men who think asking what are you wearing is flirty and not just code for ‘send nudes.’”
I wince. “Apologies on behalf of my entire gender. We’re still evolving.”
Nova’s finger lingers dramatically. Then—tap.
Delete.
I follow suit.
She tosses her phone onto the mattress like a mic drop. “And just like that, we’re off the market.”
I lean in, brushing a kiss to her cheek. “Guess I better make it worth your while.”
“Oh, you better,” she teases, eyes locking with mine. “Because I’ve seen what’s out there.”
I kiss her, sealing the deal.
Hand wandering as she eases herself down on the pillow, phone dropping to the carpet with a soft thud.
Her legs shift, one knee hitching up as I slide my palm along the curve of her thigh.
“You know,” I murmur against her lips, “if this is what deleting dating apps gets us, we should’ve done it weeks ago.”
“Weeks ago we were only on our first date.” She laughs, tipping her head back and giving me full access to her neck.
“Tragic,” I whisper, brushing my lips against her skin. “All that wasted time.”
I kiss along the curve of her throat, slow and deliberate, while my hand eases up her stomach. She arches slightly beneath me, hips shifting, breath catching as my palm finds the softness of her boobs.
She’s warm everywhere.
I push her shirt higher, pausing to glance up—her eyes are half-lidded, mouth parted. That look alone has me getting harder, still…
Gently suck her throat while my hand eases up her stomach.
Tits.
They’re full in my hands, fingers plucking at her hard nipples; I want her wet again so I can fuck her again.
I could stay here forever.
“I can’t stop touching you,” I murmur into her skin. “The fact you thought you could keep me at arm’s length…”
Hilarious.
“I know. I’m an idiot.” Her hands are in my hair, tugging me.
“You said you loved me in front of thousands of people. And if I have anything to say about it—you’re never getting rid of me now.”
Her mouth curves into the softest smile. “Good.”
38
nova
I’m too hot.
In fact, I may pass out from this shapewear.
It’s squishing and squeezing me and sucking me in—but also sucking the actual life out of me.
The ESPYs are glamorous on television. In real life, they’re a sea of overdone spray tans, ankle-bleeding stilettos, and conversations that sound like podcasts no one asked for. Everyone’s pretending to know each other. Everyone’s networking. Everyone’s hungry—mostly because nobody’s eaten since breakfast and the only available food is passed around on trays.
I don’t belong here.
And my bladder has decided now is the perfect time to betray me.
“Be right back,” I whisper to my brother, not that he hears me. It’s a miracle he notices I’m still here, wrapped up in some conversation with some dude that’s been kissing his ass all night.
I rise, holding tight to my tiny, impractical clutch and start the long, awkward shuffle toward the lobby restrooms, trying not to make eye contact with anyone important or trip over the hem of my dress and create a scene during the In Memoriam montage.
Shove open the heavy doors.
The lobby is cooler, thank God. The air conditioning actually works out here.
Awww.
Relief.
The hallway is lined with dramatic lighting and velvet ropes, because apparently, even peeing needs a red carpet.
That’s when I see him.
He’s leaning against the wall, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of something that looks suspiciously non-alcoholic but still makes him look sexy as hell. He’s talking to someone I don’t recognize and laughing at something I probably wouldn’t find funny.