Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“My hair person stepped on them, fixed them, and offered a fashion consultation I’m tempted to accept in light of my sister’s upcoming nuptials,” I reported when I walked into the house.
Holden’s eyes widened in shock while Ezra gave a confused once-over.
“Dude, you gotta get those glasses fixed,” Ezra commented, chomping into an apple. “Nice hair, though.”
“I’ll take you in the morning,” Holden offered. “You shouldn’t be driving with those.”
Cole, my other jock roommate nodded in agreement. He was tall and lanky with reddish hair and freckles, and a quirky sense of humor. He was also less boisterous than Ezra, which made him easier to converse with about…well, everything. “He’s right. It’s cool your hairdresser helped you out and asked you on a date.”
My face felt like an oven. “A date? No, it would be a consultation.”
Cole snorted. “Consultation. Is that what you gays call it?”
“Tommy boy! You are bright fuckin’ red. You have a crush on the hair dude,” Ezra declared in between apple bites.
Holden frowned. “Hair dude? I can’t believe you’re going to be a lawyer. You know, our legal system is entrusting you to give sage counsel, Ezra. You might want to learn how to respectfully address—”
“Yeah, yeah. Speak to the hand, Lord Fauntleroy,” Ezra snarked.
“You don’t know who that is, do you?” Holden challenged. “Have you read Frances Hodgson Burnett?”
“No, Holden, I have a life.”
Here we go again.
Holden and Ezra verbally sparred every chance they got. Their arguments usually had something to do with food or noise levels, but lately, they argued about everything.
“Stop.” I stepped between them and spoke in my sternest professorial tone. “And don’t go spreading rumors. It’s not a date.”
“But you like him,” Ezra taunted, waggling his brows lasciviously.
“Well…yes.”
“Are you going to call him?” Cole asked.
I thought about it for a moment and shook my head. “No.”
Five days later, I changed my mind.
Why?
That kiss.
That crazy-hot kiss consumed me for five whole days. I’d thought about Noah first thing in the morning in the shower with my hand on my cock, at lunch in my office where I couldn’t do a thing to relieve the pressure, and at random times in the afternoon. But it was worse at night. I’d get warm, then hot, then superhot. Like I couldn’t stand having a sheet on my skin and my boxer briefs were far too snug.
I’d slip my fingers under the elastic and stroke myself while I replayed the feel of my mouth on his. He’d started it, I’d finished it, and somewhere in between something had sparked to life and now…I couldn’t get him out of my head.
I had to know if he felt what I did.
Actually, I knew he did. And though it wasn’t like me to make the first move, I sensed that he needed me to be the one to say something, do something. And that alone was interesting.
Heck, Noah was interesting.
As a consummate observer, I’d noticed a few things about Noah in the couple of hours we’d spent together. He’d been friendly but reserved, too. Once he’d warmed up, he was effusive with his casual terms of endearment and more actively engaged in conversation…not just asking filler questions to pass the time. But he’d definitely been cautious at first. The contrast fascinated me.
So did the sporty angle. I would never have guessed that he played soccer. From a purely physical viewpoint, the athletes I knew looked nothing like Noah. And between my roommates, Ezra and Cole, and my friends’ boyfriends, I knew quite a few jocks. They were big, brawny men with broad chests, muscular thighs, and thick biceps who played lacrosse, football, and baseball. Comparatively speaking, Noah was slight. He was pretty, too.
See? I couldn’t stop thinking about him. The tilt of his chin, his hearty laugh, his mischievous brown eyes. The sway of his hips, his soft lips, and that whisper-light touch of his tongue when he licked the corner of my mouth and—
Erection alert!
I’d never been smitten at first sight. Attracted, yes, but not bone-tingling aware. And for the first time ever, I wanted to do something about it.
I knew my limitations, but I was confident in my own way. I was smart and accomplished. I just never thought twice about my appearance. I’d been told I was good-looking, but looks weren’t important. Science was. And science didn’t care if my socks matched or if my khakis were too short. I got the impression that Noah didn’t care either. Of course, he’d offered to give me a makeover, so what did I know?
Well, I knew if I deleted his number, I might never see him again.
So I’d texted.
And now here I was, standing on a street corner where the rainbow-painted crosswalk mirrored the rainbow flags proudly affixed to storefront windows. I spotted a woman walking by with rainbow-streaked hair, a couple wearing matching rainbow shirts, and dogs on rainbow-colored leashes. Rainbows everywhere.