Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
It was an entire cardio workout.
He’d jump regularly, then one foot at a time, then both, then whip the rope back and forth before jumping in a circle to the beat of the music.
My perverted brain couldn’t help but warp time from my vantage point at the gym entrance. I saw it all in slow motion — the way the taut, thick muscles of his abdomen and chest rippled each time he landed on the concrete floor, how his hair was dampened at the edges, the way the muscles of his forearms and shoulders ebbed and flowed with each swipe of that rope.
It was pornographic.
And when he realized I was there, when he noticed I was watching, he didn’t stop.
In fact, I swore I saw a smirk on those plump lips of his before he turned away from me, finishing his reps like he didn’t mind the audience.
After his workout, he’d meet us in the kitchen. And where Ava and I typically had the same breakfast, Chef Patel always had a special one for him — one loaded with lean protein, whole grains, and a pile of fruits or vegetables.
I also had a sneaky suspicion that he had a skin and hair routine somewhere in there, because by the time he showed at the breakfast table, his face was glowing, his hair so shiny it looked like it was out of a Pantene commercial.
Needless to say, I did not mind bearing witness to any portion of Will’s routine — not in the slightest.
And that was the third thing I learned that week.
I liked watching Will Perry.
And I was fairly certain he liked watching me, too.
• • •
“Livia, you could at least pretend to help,” Maven said, a smile on her lips even as she rolled her eyes at her best friend — who was currently lying on the floor beside me, swiping through her phone, feet kicked up on the couch.
“And you could stop pretending you can’t afford to pay an event planner to do this shit for you,” she shot back.
Grace laughed, picking up a dried rose and tossing it at Livia. It landed on her forehead, making her flinch, but she just daintily swiped it away before smiling and getting back to whatever she was doing on her phone.
We were currently a half-hour into carefully packing the most gorgeous and elaborate wedding invitations I’d ever seen. They weren’t just a slip of paper tucked inside an envelope. Instead, Vince had made hundreds of beautifully unique clay pots, and we were filling them with seeds so guests could turn their invite into a house plant. We also threw in dried flowers and crystals, and of course, the invitation. Even that piece alone was stunning, an opaque, gold-foiled vellum with gorgeous script overlaying luxurious lavender card stock.
The four of us were sitting around a beautiful coffee table in the middle of Maven and Vince’s beach house. The evening had been sprung on me in the form of Vince and Jaxson showing up at the house and forcing Will to go with them to a pizza arcade — one they’d rented out for the evening — and of course, bringing Ava along.
Maven and Livia had then introduced me to Grace before promptly piling into Maven’s car and dragging me with them.
It had been impossible not to fidget the entire car ride, even despite the way every single one of them went out of their way to make me feel welcome into their group. Still, as nervous as I was, I also couldn’t contain my excitement.
They weren’t dragging me out to a bar, but to Maven’s home.
We weren’t going out to dance, but rather were staying in to craft.
I mean… this was right up my alley.
“She does make a fair point,” Grace said, assessing the box she’d packed with an unsure wrinkle of her nose. She tilted her head to the side. “I’m not exactly killing it over here.”
Maven peeked at the atrocity before glancing at her own, and she let out a puff of a laugh, abandoning the ribbon she’d been tying around her invitation and sitting back on her hands. “Oh, who am I kidding? I hate crafts.”
“Says the woman who will spend hours in the garden,” Livia shot.
“That’s different! My plants are my babies. This…” she said, lifting up the last invitation she’d done with the ribbon looking like one of my students tied it. “Is anything but.”
“Can we please abandon ship, then, and go drink a bottle of wine on the beach?” Livia sat up, tossing her phone on the couch. “It’s supposed to get cold tomorrow.”
“Sixty-five degrees is not cold,” Grace said. “Come to Michigan this time of year and you can tell me about cold.”
“No, thank you,” Livia said.
Maven tossed in the towel. “Alright. I’ll grab the wine. And tomorrow, I’m hiring an event planner.”