Knot So Lucky (Destination Love, #1)(28)

Crew smirks, moving back into his seat as I shake my head and answer his question.

“No, what do you love about Vegas?”

“Betting on the house…because it never loses.”

What? Betting on the… oh my god. My brows draw together as my hands scramble for my phone, swiping it open.

Holy. Shit.

Are you kidding me? He made a new group message.

One that includes him.

Son of a bitch.

QB with the giant cock: Fuck around and find out, ladies. Old bets are dead. Here’s the new bet. A thousand bucks says I have her screaming my name by midnight tonight. If I don’t, each day I fail you earn another thousand. If I win, Eleanor deletes her roster in her phone.





Mills: That’s 30k… You’re fucking on, buddy. For the sisterhood Elle—DO NOT CAVE!!!





Samantha: Now we’re talking. Eleanor…you better not fail this mission! Be like Tom Cruise. Millie, we’re splitting it… I could do a lot of damage with fifteen thousand.





Eleanor has left the chat.





eleven





“Shirtless, gray sweatpants, and quad rolls.”





crew


Having her here, in my fucking space, is exactly as hard as I thought it would be.

That’s part of the reason why I made the bet…I’m never going to be able to not shoot my shot with her. And it’s clear the same shit is on her mind too.

Because she stared at the seat cushion of my couch for ten fucking minutes with a grin on her face and her legs squeezed together. The same couch her knees sunk down into when I bent her over it last night.

I’ll never make it thirty days before I turn into one of those little Chihuahua dogs that see a leg and start humping the air.

Because everything she does and every room she’s in makes me think about sex. There’s no safe space…my house is unsafe for me.

When she walked by the kitchen island earlier, I thought I was going to pass out because all I saw was her parked on top, legs spread as TJ ate her out.

I’m losing brain cells by the second here.

There’s no blood circulating anywhere in my body other than in my dick. Because I’ve had a half chub for way too long to be medically healthy.

My hand runs over the marble countertop as I chug back a water, before heading to the couch, trying not to think about the fact that I never got to sample her last night after TJ was done.

The regret is real.

Ironically, just as real as my regret that I even met her. I chuckle to myself because this is why women think men are stupid and led by our dicks.

I’ve got agents and public relations people working overtime to clean up my mess, but I would one hundred percent sell Nate to the highest bidder to be in Eleanor’s pussy right now. I swear I can’t stop thinking about her body and doing dirty shit to it.

If I don’t win this bet, I might actually combust. Problem is, I would never pressure her—that’s nasty and fucking illegal. I’m not that guy. But I am the guy with a plan: I have to be so irresistible that she jumps me.

She’ll come to me.

It’s weak, but it’s all I got. I have to be irresistible to a girl who basically despises me. Therein lies the problem. If it works, I’m a gambling genius. But I have a sneaking suspicion I’m more of a world-class fucking moron, who’s about to be out thirty thousand dollars to boot.

Especially since I was dickish to her earlier…but, I mean. I was having feelings. Really pissed-off ones.

I was going to apologize, but that group text had me in a hard Ross PIV-AUGHT…her bullshit felt like a challenge. And history’s already proven that if she issues one, I’ll accept.

However, this challenge is proving more difficult than I thought. Considering I’ve already lost day one’s bet since the moment after she left the chat and the ice in her demeanor got even chillier, and when we got home, after staring at the couch, the only thing she said to me was “Go get my friend. She’s staying here until her flight leaves tomorrow.”

Then she walked right into my room and closed the door. A few minutes later, a pillow and blanket were launched out.

Eleanor: 1

Me: 0

So now here I am, staring up at the ceiling from the couch, surrounded by my bedding, not even trying to hide my grin. Because while she’s been in the shower, I’ve been strategizing. And I’m going to turn the next thirty days into relentless temptation. I’ll make it impossible for her to stand by what she said.

Is it immature? Yes.

Am I too old to act like this at twenty-eight? Yep.

Do I care?

Nope.

There’s something about the fact that I’ve never had to work this hard in my life. Usually, I just have to show up and girls are down. But now, I have to reignite the flame. How the fuck do I do that?

It’s like we’re real married people. I should have a dad bod and a penchant for fixing shit that doesn’t need fixing. Still, I’m in it to win it. Her pussy is my Super Bowl, and I want that ring. So fucking bad.

I just have to figure out how to drive her crazy. I can’t call the guys…they don’t know how to woo women any more than I do. But then a thought strikes, making me sit up and grab my phone to text the only person I know who will be brutally honest and answer me without asking for context. Because she won’t care.