Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 92646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Not trying to be noticed.
Except everyone here has noticed them.
The young women congregating around the bar? Staring.
The waitress? Has circled their area three times.
“Damn, that’s a good-looking group of men.” Nova sighs dreamily. “Luca gets me so wet, I swear. All I have to do is look at him and my uterus bursts into confetti.”
“Please don’t say ‘uterus confetti’ while I’m this vulnerable.”
She laughs. “I speak the truth.”
But I’m not looking at Luca. Not even a little.
My eyes—like the absolute traitors they are—zero in on Turner.
Quiet. Broody. Solid. His arms are crossed, his jaw locked, like someone just told him his favorite team lost and puppies aren’t real. He’s not laughing like the others.
He just…
Standing there.
He raises his eyes and looks straight at me.
We lock eyes across the rooftop, and my body reacts like I’ve been struck by lightning. Every nerve ending crackles to life. I’m not even being dramatic—I actually forget how to blink. Or breathe. Or exist in any reasonable capacity.
His gaze doesn’t waver. He holds it steady, as if he’s seeing me for the very first time and likes the view. Like I’m not the girl who is going to eventually leave wet towels in the hall.
No, the way he’s looking at me now makes us feel like total strangers. A possibility. Someone he might flirt with at a party, back into a corner, and ask for their number.
He looks interested.
“Yikes.” Nova whistles low under her breath. “This is intense. He is literally eating you alive with his eyeballs.”
“Great. Cool. I’ve been vaporized.”
“Do you want to go say hi?”
“I want to toss myself off this roof.” Put myself out of this misery.
Nova clinks her glass against mine. “To roommates. And terrible life choices.”
“To thighs,” I mutter. “Specifically his.”
And because I’m a masochist, I glance back at Turner.
Big mistake.
Huge.
Still leaning casually against the bar, he has one hand wrapped around a glass, the other shoved in his pocket like he’s got all the time in the world to watch me. His jaw is tight, eyes dark, and the slow, deliberate way he drags his gaze down my body?
Holy shit...
Nova nudges me with her elbow. “Girl. You are staring.”
I down the rest of my drink, slamming the glass on the tabletop. “If I sleep with him, you’re legally responsible.”
“This is your fault—you made eggs in your undies.”
WOULD SHE STOP TALKING?
Then Turner raises his glass to me, a silent toast from across the rooftop. Cheers.
Nova follows my gaze, eyebrows shooting up when she sees him. “He definitely wants to devour you.”
I swallow. “He’s hungry?”
“For you. Obviously. Jesus, Poppy, I feel like I should excuse myself.”
“I—” My voice squeaks like a broken flute. “I told you the past few hours have been a nightmare.”
A delicious, tension-fueled nightmare with biceps and bedroom eyes. One that I’m trapped in with no escape.
“Come on,” Nova says, looping her arm through mine.
“Wait—where are we going?” I whisper-yelp as she tugs me across the rooftop.
“Over there.”
“Why?!”
“Because I said so.”
Before I can protest further, she’s marching us across the patio, weaving between tables and cocktail waitresses like she’s on a mission from god, which she very well might be, because ten seconds later we’ve arrived at the testosterone epicenter of the bar.
“Hello boys,” she chirps, sweet and sugary confidence.
A few of them greet her, smiling and nodding, familiar with her for years as Gio’s sister. She throws her arm around Luca, giving him a kiss on the mouth.
Nova releases my arm and gives me a shove. A shove. A literal push with her well-manicured hand that sends me jostling awkwardly into Turner’s firm, meaty body.
My mind reels: am I being matchmade right now?
Is this some kind of setup?
I feel my body flush, grateful my shirt covers my entire neck or he’d see the rash blooming there. “Sorry. Nova shoved me.”
“I noticed,” his low voice allows.
I shift on my feet, heart thudding behind my ribs. “She’s never been subtle.”
“No,” he agrees. “But she’s efficient.”
Nervously, I chug everything in my glass, swallowing it down with a grimace because the bottom of my drink is tart.
Glancing around, I grow desperate for something casual to say, but my brain is nothing but static. I could talk about the music. Or the weather. Or how obscenely broad his shoulders look in that snug polo shirt—
“Would you like another drink?” Turner asks suddenly, saving me from whatever train wreck of a sentence I was about to unleash.
“I—yeah. Yes, please.”
He takes my empty glass and gives me a small nod, then turns toward the bar and I watch, eyes scanning his entire back side. The broad stretch of his back, the way that shirt clings to his traps. His narrow waist. And that ass?
When I close my eyes tonight, I’ll be imagining what it looks like in the flesh...
Firm. Defined.
Thick thighs.
I exhale and glance over again, just in time to see Turner step away from the bar, drink in hand, his gaze scanning the crowd until it lands on me.