Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
That left, well, Venezio.
“I see the gears turning,” Andy said, narrowing her eyes at me. “And I feel like you’ve been keeping something from me.”
“I haven’t.” Well, not much.
“Liar.”
“I’m not lying! I told you we got a new volunteer.”
“And conveniently didn’t say anything else about them. So I’m going to assume it’s a man.”
“It’s a man.”
“And with that flush creeping up your neck, I’m going to assume he’s hot.”
“He’s hot,” I confirmed.
“Well, then you have the perfect date.”
“No. Absolutely not,” I said, cracking the oven to check the cookies. At the first hint of browning around the edges, they had to come out.
“Why not?”
“He’s not… a black-tie kind of guy.”
“Oooh, rough-around-the-edges, is he?”
“He’s the slicked-back hair, leather jacket, tattooed type.”
“Oh, be still my heart,” she said, pressing a hand to her chest.
“That’s totally not your type.” Both she and Sammy were on the feminine side.
“No, but I can appreciate a James Dean type. They have a certain bad boy magnetism that defies sexual preference. So, what’s his name?”
“Venezio.”
“It keeps getting hotter. Didn’t you narrate a book with some hot Italian guy with a V name?”
“Valentino,” I confirmed. And, yes, I’d drawn the parallels. Especially in the tub or in bed alone at night before sleep. Where I would imagine those scenes full of long sessions of oral followed by mind-bending, toe-curling, multiple-orgasm sex… but swap out the hero for Venezio.
Stupid on my part.
The last thing I needed when I came across Venezio at the warehouse was to vividly remember the way I came with his fingers, mouth, and cock on my mind.
“Well, I think a hot tattooed guy would look great in a suit.”
“Isn’t it black-tie? Doesn’t that mean tails?”
“Oh, God. No. Like it’s black-tie-ish. No tails or cravats. Nice suits.”
“I doubt he has a suit.” Let alone a nice one. “He’s a tee and Timbs kind of guy.”
“Doesn’t every man have a suit? Not having one is like not having an all-occasions little black dress.”
“I mean, unless he’s had to go to weddings or funerals, maybe not.”
“Well, you can get him a suit.”
I could.
I had some extra money I was going to put back into the charity. But if going to this event—with a date—would mean tenfold that kind of money, then it made sense to invest my money in getting my date to go with me.
“If I’m going to pay, why not just hire an escort?” I mumbled to myself.
“I mean, I’m all for that too. Lord knows you could use a guy to help give your sheets a workout.”
“Hey!”
“Girl, come on. It’s been two years. Two years. It’s going to close up.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“No, but it’s not healthy not to have good, solid orgasms on the regular.”
“You can have orgasms without a partner.”
“You can,” she agreed. “But we both know it’s better with a partner.”
She had a point there.
“But circling back to Venezio,” she said, savoring his name.
“Can we not?”
“I think you doth protest too much. Did I say that right?” she asked, then charged on without waiting for a reply. “I think you want to get hot and sweaty with the new volunteer. And you’re worried that taking him on a date is going to end up with you two in bed. Or up against a wall in an alley.”
“Listen. Yes, he’s hot. Yes, I’ve had some interesting thoughts about him. Yes, he once yanked a guy out of a seat on a subway so I could sit down—”
“Oh my God. No, he didn’t.”
“He did. Then gave the kid a lecture about giving up his seat to women and the elderly.” I went ahead and left off that weird little bit about being scared of people and the thinly veiled threats that I didn’t quite understand.
“Was it sexy? I bet it was sexy.”
“It was sexy. But I totally could have just stood.”
“Yeah, but he thought you should sit and then made it happen? Hot. Okay. Yeah, you have to ask him to the event.”
“You don’t understand. He’s very… rough.”
“So are lawyers.”
“Yeah, but he’s… he heckled people who didn’t donate.”
“Well, tell him to be on his best behavior. Oh, we have to go,” she said, grabbing her phone (and another cookie) then rushing to the door. “Ask him. Don’t make me drop by and do it for you.”
She would do that, too.
Then I would look like a chickenshit.
Or, worse yet, it might seem to him that I was into him and I needed my friend to set us up.
It would be better if I asked him myself. Make it casual. Make it about the charity. Nothing personal. Just a fundraising event. Nothing more.
Decision made, I pulled out the cookies and moved them onto a cooling rack.
Though I had to admit that there was nothing casual in how I spent the next half an hour. I waited for more cookies to bake while looking at appropriate gowns online, and trying to decide which one Venezio might find the sexiest, while still being classy.