Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
But why the hell didn’t he mention that?
“I only know basic greetings and es calinete!” Jared says. “You’re hot.”
“No, no, eso no está bien,” Matt—Nate!—says with a laugh. “Not correct. Él está caliente. He is hot,” he repeats before turning my way. “Ella está caliente. She is hot.” This he kind of purrs as he strokes his hand down my face. “Ryan.” Holy rolling r’s. “Is beautiful.”
“Whoa,” someone murmurs. I can’t be sure who, and I’m not looking because I’m too busy staring into my pseudo boyfriend’s eyes. Eyes that seem to shine with a dark possessiveness. Man, he’s good. He’s obviously had a lot of practice, but good Lord, the man could melt the panties off a girl’s behind with just one look—no accent required!
My hottie inclines his head as he murmurs more of that sensual-sounding language, pulling me closer to whisper those sweet sexy somethings in my ear. It takes me a moment to catch on to his meaning, but somewhere in the shiver-inducing cadence, the husky rise and fall, I hear the word canoodle.
We’re a couple that canoodles. Fine by me, provided we don’t come anywhere close to second base in public.
“What’d he say?” Brandon demands once again, like a school bully who doesn’t get the joke. Maybe because he is the joke. And he is definitely the bully.
I flick Brandon a look that says: Like I’d tell you.
“So guys, this is my Nathaniel,” I begin, pawing his chest for good measure. It’s a hard job, but someone’s got to do it. “Nate, baby, these are my colleagues”—also known as the clowns I work with—“Tyler, Jared, Jamie, Kyle, and Dipesh. Why is Dipesh asleep?” I ask, watching his nodding head, his chin bouncing against his chest.
“Can’t hold his liquor,” Kyle supplies.
“You forgot to introduce me,” Brandon puts in.
“No, I didn’t forget.”
Five of the six offer varying degrees of lukewarm hellos, while Brandon just grunts.
“You just spoke to him in English.”
“Your point?” I slice Brandon with a look.
“And he spoke to you in Spanish.”
“Ten out of ten for observation.”
“Well?”
“We’re teaching each other. What the hell do you think we do all those hours on the phone?”
“I know what I’d be doing if I had a hot Spanish girlfriend,” Jared puts in lasciviously.
“There’s only so much phone sex one couple can have.” Or not, as the case may be, I think as I stroke my hand down Matt’s shirt. He feels like Michelangelo’s David under there.
“Sufriría una lesión una y otra vez por ti cualquier día,” Matt murmurs as he takes my hand in his and presses it to his cheek.
“Sí, baby. Sí,” I say. Damn it. I should’ve googled some Spanish phrases.
“Killer, you’re killing me!” one of the clowns moans.
“It wasn’t an invitation to watch,” I retort through gritted teeth.
“Then stop feeling him up,” Brandon mutters.
I spear the shithead with a look. “Really? The number of times I’ve had to listen to your tales of this hot girl from a bar and that hot girl from Instagram.”
Thanks to social media influencers, finance bros have become a hot commodity. The irony is these men are often the smartest in the room, but they’re also idiots because they’ve bought into the finance bro hype. They see themselves as irresistible, like our job is all yachts and partying. In reality, it’s long hours in the office, with even longer hours glued to our phones at home staring at market alerts, reading emails and texts, and dealing with phone calls from other time zones.
“Can’t be much of a relationship if you can barely communicate.” Brandon lounges back in his chair as he sends a glower Matt’s way.
“We say all we need to in other ways.”
“I didn’t think you meant it,” he mutters sourly. “That you were bringing someone.”
“And I’m supposed to care what you think?”
He glares at me as the others make a kind of whistling sound, like fifth graders in the schoolyard.
“What’d I miss?” Dipesh says loudly, coming to like a lip-smacking jack-in-the-box.
“Killer Queen brought a boyfriend.”
“The Spanish guy?” Dipesh asks, all wide-eyed drunkenness as he glances around the table as though trying to make out who is who.
“Yup.”
“How tall are you?” Dipesh squints across the table at Matt.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s seeing multiple Matts. Lucky for him.
“Is he taller than five feet six?” he persists.
“Don’t be a dick.” I glance around the table with a look of disgust. You assholes.
“He’s tall,” Jared eventually offers up. “Six two would be my guess.”
“And handsome,” Jamie says.
“And more to the point, he’s really Spanish,” Kyle adds.
Dipesh nods as though taking this all in. Then he jumps to his feet. “Yeah!” He begins to hammer his fists to his chest like a puny Tarzan. “I win, motherfuckers! Pay up!”
Matt catches my eye, his expression seeming to say, You have got to be kidding me.