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)
Turner snorts under his breath.
“And I’m the fun one,” Cash finishes, winking at me.
If this his attempt at being charming—or flirting—he’s got the wrong girl.
“Oh, awesome,” I say dryly. “So we’ve got ‘Responsible Dad’ and ‘Fun Uncle.’”
“Exactly!” Cash whoops, slapping the counter and beginning to build himself a plate of eggs and bacon. “She gets it!”
I do the same before sliding onto a barstool, my plate clinking against the stone countertop, trying to suppress a grin; clearly these two are like fire and ice. Polar opposites. Responsible and…
Well.
A complete tool.
Nugget flops down dramatically at my feet with a huff—like he’s exhausted from our introduction.
“So,” Cash says, dragging his stool out with his foot and plops down beside me. “I just got back from the most epic snowboarding trip of my life.”
I glance up from my eggs, biting back a smile. “Oh yeah?”
It feels good being included in this post-trip tea.
“Totally.” Cash leans forward, elbows on the counter, talking with his mouth full. “Picture this: Colorado. Bluebird skies. Knee-deep powder. I shredded the gnar so hard Red Bull is thinking about erecting a monument in my honor.”
Turner mutters something suspiciously close to “Jesus Christ” into his coffee mug.
I stifle a laugh. “That so?”
Cash winks again. “Totally. Not to brag—except I’m definitely bragging—but I only biffed it once. One time, bruh—do you know how often that happens? Almost never. And that one fall wasn’t even my fault. Some fucker’s skis almost sideswiped me at full speed. Took me out like a goddamn bowling pin.”
Turner snorts again, louder this time.
Cash ignores him, grinning. “Twelve stitches in my hip, baby.”
“Oh wow,” I say, nodding solemnly. “So brave.”
Turner coughs to cover his laugh—and fails.
Cash grins. Chews. “Thank you. I am brave.”
I shovel a bite of eggs into my mouth, glancing over at Turner. He’s watching me again. Watching Cash and me as if he’s studying the interaction, like he’s trying not to interfere.
Cash reaches for another piece of bacon and bites into it.
“Anyway, we’re going out tonight. You should come.”
Turner stiffens. “Who is we?”
“Me, Clark, Stashes, and Will.”
Stashes?
I’m too afraid to ask how Stashes got his nickname.
Instead I raise a brow as if I know the men he’s speaking about. “Go out? Where?”
“Bar down the street,” Cash says, still gnawing on his bacon. “Chill place. Good drinks. Pool tables. Dartboards. Hot single people.”
Hot single people…
As if there weren’t enough of them in this house?!
“Thank you for the invite, but I still have to set up the office in my bedroom.”
I’m in no rush to bond with this guy. He’s too Bro for me. Cash probably thinks “emotional intelligence” is a brand of deodorant.
“You’d rather put together your office than go have drinks with your new roommates?” Cash clutches his chest like I physically wounded him. "Brutal. Shot to the heart."
“Yeah. Sorry.”
He grins anyway, unbothered. "Maybe next time, sweetheart."
Sweetheart.
Ugh.
Gross.
I shove a piece of bacon into my mouth to hide my irritation.
Cash carries on like he hasn’t just made my skin crawl. He continues rambling about his trip—how his sponsor picked up a new talent, some ‘chick from Canada’ that they expect him to travel with.
Turner listens, leaning against the counter, sipping his coffee, looking so effortlessly calm it makes me want to throw a piece of toast at his stupid perfect face.
Especially because every once in a while, his eyes flick to me.
I roll my eyes when Cash isn’t looking.
He sticks out his tongue.
Cash wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Anyway, we're pregaming at the bar before hitting TopSpin if you're feeling spontaneous later." He points at me with his fork. "We need more hot girls on the roster. It's a numbers game."
I lift a brow. "Thanks for the flattering invite. I'll cherish it forever."
He looks at me blankly, confused by my sarcasm.
“Well gentlemen. I’m going to shower and use this day to be productive. Time to start getting into a work routine.” I scrape my chair back, mutter more words about needing to finish unpacking, and make a beeline for my bedroom before Cash can invite me to anything else that involves “hot girls” and “numbers games.”
The second the door clicks shut behind me, I let out a groan and flop face-first onto my bed.
Reach for my phone.
Text Nova with violent thumbs.
Me: Update: I survived breakfast—but barely. Cash is like... if a Monster energy drink had a baby and learned how to snowboard.
Nova: LOLOLOLOL STOP IT
Me: I’m being dead serious. He invited me to “pregame” at the bar tonight. Actual quote: "We need more hot girls on the roster."
Nova: I’m SCREAMING. Did he actually???
Me: Girl I wish I was lying. I feel so bad for Turner—these guys are so opposite.
Nova: That’s probably why it works.
Me: How the hell did Luca live with that dude? Yes, he’s chill, but he’s also a mega douche. Thanks for WARNING ME.