Knot So Lucky (Destination Love, #1)(26)

My teeth find my lip, scraping over it as I consider what he’s saying. It’s not a terrible idea. I could use it to look like less of an asshole to my clients and even my parents.

What’s the harm in a little white lie?

“Fine,” I rush out. “But no kissing or anything like that. Our couple vibe is ‘are they siblings, or are they dating.’ You get me? Close enough but not too close. Because our physical proximity is what got us into this shit in the first place. So, keep your hands to yourself, QB. I’m not even risking falling into hate sex at this point.”

“Done. Trust me, Wild Card. The last thing on my mind is your pussy.”





ten





“Is she or isn’t she a brotherfucker.”





eleanor


We’ve been in the back of the car for what feels like an hour because Crew and I are entrenched in silence as we drive to his penthouse. Apparently, the hotel room I thought was a five-star honeymoon suite was his actual house.

It seems wrong to go back to the scene of the crime, but alas, here I am.

My phone is still vibrating, more messages flooding in. I know my sister and Millie are having a field day. He was such a dick. And they ate it up. Because if the charming, cocky guy is my kryptonite, the asshole dickhead is my 3:00 a.m. “you up” destiny. So says my sketchy hookup record.

I sneak my cell from my purse, looking up discreetly to make sure he’s not looking at me before I open the message thread.

Samantha: Hundred bucks says she folds in the first week and does the dirty with him.





Mills: Oh, that’s a guarantee. There’s no bet there.





Samantha: A week is generous now that I think about it…





Mills: I give her two days, tops. If there’s anything we know about Elsinore it’s that there’s no if you’re a bird, I’m a bird shit—she’s an if you’re a turd, I’m a pooper scooper kind of girl. And Crew Matthews is definitely a little shit.





My fingers type so fast I have to correct three typos before I hit Send.

Me: The ways in which you are both DEAD wrong. Neither of us is remotely interested in even sitting next to each other at this point. He’s not even that hot in person. Forget about the fact that his personality cancels out any interest I had from before.





Samantha: Mmmkay…





Samantha: *GIF of an old lady on a stripper pole





Mills: ha ha that’s going to be your pussy in a week feeling dusty and thirsty ya’ whore. No way you share a space with that piece of meat and not cave. I have no faith in your willpower.





Samantha: Zero.





My mouth falls open as I laugh, drawing Crew’s attention next to me. So, I give him a mildly dirty look, making him look away as I go back to my conversation.

Me: I have self-control.





Samantha: Funny. Earlier it was—He’s not even that hot in person. His personality sucks. Now it’s—I have self-control…which is it, Elle?





Mills: Ha ha ha. Caught.





Me: Shut up. I’ll bet both of you I can last the whole month without even touching him. Whoever wins gets a thousand bucks.





Samantha: Done. But you might get fired. So you’re not good for the money.





Oh nice. Jerk.

Mills: I want your new sparkly boots WHEN I WIN.





I gasp. The gravity of this bet deserved the gasp. Again, Crew’s eyes meet mine as I glance up before huffing a “What?” at him so as to not even remotely let on that we’re talking about him.

I splurged on those boots. After she and I had watched Urban Cowboy for the millionth time and then happened upon them at an upscale thrift store in San Francisco. I negotiated for over an hour and threatened to cut the leash of some woman’s dog and set it free in the Bay because she tried to butt in and offer more.

Those Betsey Johnson rhinestone cowgirl boots are my fucking precious, and I’m their Gollum.

Me: Now you know you’re going to lose, Mills. I would go to jail for those boots. I almost did. That Pomeranian was about to be a free doggie.





Samantha: Perfect, then wagering…I don’t know…admitting to Mom, to her face, that you accused her fucking the whole cul-de-sac, shouldn’t be a problem.





My eyes almost pop out of my head.

Me: You terrible whore of a sister. Karma’s giving you a yeast infection for that treachery. You know I would rather chew glass than let our saint of a mother know what a menace she raised.





Me: You know what? You’re both on. If Crew Matthews touches me…





My forehead wrinkles as I specify, unfortunately thinking of all the parts on him he could touch me with.

Me: …If his giant cock touches my holy grail then I will become the worst shoeless daughter in history.





Samantha: Fingers count too.