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)
She's pregnant. Again. After only a few months…
I park beside Gio’s truck and kill the engine.
Nova unbuckles and tosses me a look. “You good?”
I stare out the windshield, blinking rapidly. “There’s a mechanical bull.”
She grins. “And line dancing.”
Shit.
I hate both of those things.
And before you start wondering how I know I hate both of those things, I have six words for you: Brett Higgins’ 26th Nashville Bachelor Party.
I barely remember most of it because I blacked out somewhere between the mechanical bull and the third round of whiskey shots. Woke up with a sprained thumb and Yeehaw, Motherfucker! written in black Sharpie marker across my pelvis, right above my dick that took two weeks to fade.
So yeah.
I don’t love a rodeo.
“Is Poppy already inside?”
“Oh, definitely.” Nova grabs the gift bag from the floor of my car, balancing it on her lap, fiddling with the pink ribbon she’d curled at the top. “And she’s waiting to judge you.”
Of course she is.
Because this isn’t just a birthday party: it’s our unofficial coming out and the first time I’m meeting Poppy, her best friend of all time.
Nova laughs, reaching across the center council to lace her fingers through mine. “You’ll be fine, babe. You survived my brother. You can survive a night of line dancing and my family.”
“Can I, though?”
“Yes.” She laughs. “This is a birthday party! Everyone but Austin will be drunk and in a good mood.” Her brows wiggle in my direction. “Maybe I’ll let you fuck me in the bathroom.”
She lifts the hem of her skirt, giving me a flirty peek of her white thong.
Well shit…
This cheers me up considerably. “All you’re making me want to do is spank you—and eat your ass out.”
She loves it when I talk dirty.
Nova tilts her head, biting down on her bottom lip. She glances around the parking lot—then at the entrance to the building as if she were debating letting me rail her in the parking lot.
“Crap. I like the sound of that.” She sighs, briefly considering her options.
“You’re not playing fair.”
“I’m not here to play fair,” she purrs before lowering her skirt and grabbing the gift bag, my eyes still homed on her smooth, silky thighs.
I love those thighs.
Love being between them.
I clear my throat, adjusting the crotch of my jeans. “Now I’m going to walk into this party with a hard-on.”
She shrugs innocently. “Consider it motivation.”
And just like that, she’s out of the truck and heading toward the saloon doors, leaving me with a choice: follow her like a lovesick idiot, or sit here and fantasize about fucking her later in a woman’s bathroom stall.
The idea has merit, so I climb out after her—jeans adjusted, brain still halfway in a fantasy where Nova’s moaning my name in a stall with “KAYLEE WAS HERE” carved into the metal door with a blunt object.
The scent of barbecue and cheap beer hits me the second we step inside. Country music blares from overhead speakers. I scowl at the mechanical bull in the corner, a long wooden bar on the right, and about a hundred people packed into the space wearing some variation of plaid and boots.
Nova weaves through them effortlessly.
Me? I follow like a golden retriever who is happy to be included.
A second later, a woman appears out of nowhere, screeching as she runs toward Nova with her arms stretched wide.
“Oh my God, finally! Where have you been?” she yells, tackling Nova in a hug that lifts her an actual inch off the ground. “I was starting to think you had the dates wrong.”
This has to be Poppy.
Tall. Curvy. Blonde. Wearing a glittery crop top that says ‘I LOVE COWBOYS WITH BEARDS’ in rhinestones. She’s exactly the kind of person who would vibe with Nova. Loud.
Fun.
Flamboyant.
“You must be Luca,” she says, eyes sweeping over me with the kind of evaluation that feels a lot like getting X-rayed at airport security.
“That’s me,” I say, offering a cautious grin. “I’m the new boyfriend.”
Together, they terrify me.
I can tell already.
Poppy steps back, giving me one of those long, unblinking stares that makes you want to confess to all the things you didn’t do but had planned to.
“Huh.” She smiles up at me. “You’re taller than expected.”
“People say that when they meet me in person,” I reply, trying not to fidget. “Also, I can cook—and sort my laundry.”
Nova giggles beside me, running her hand over my back and resting her hand on my waist. “He’s really proud of the laundry thing.”
“I also make a mean omelet,” I offer.
She exhales. “Damn. That’s dangerously close to husband material.”
Nova leans into me, grinning. “I told you he was a catch.”
Poppy sips her drink. “All right, laundry hottie. I’ll give you a provisional thumbs-up.”
“Provisional?” I echo, not loving the way that sounds.
“We haven’t seen you line dance yet.” Then she turns to Nova and stage-whispers, “God, he’s hot. If you ever dump him, I’m taking him in the custody battle.”