Cyndi texts me. Her message consists of four words - I'm in Hollywood, beyotch. I laugh. Only my vivacious, insanely wealthy friend would fly across the country on a whim.
"What?" I feign disbelief. "You've never had Heavenly Hash ice cream? No wonder you're an asshole. You've lived a deprived life."
My control-freak billionaire is trying to peer into the condo. I swing the door open. "Peepholes only work one way," I tease.
"I thought you might require retinal indentification." Nicolas smiles, his white teeth flashing in his tanned face, and I inhale sharply. He's so damn handsome..."
"The luscious slice of beefcake is Hawke." Smothering my laughter, I pour hot water into cups and set tea bags on the saucers. "I'm afraid we have only one of him."
Boyfriend: He didn't have to answer his phone.
Boyfriend: I take YOU seriously.
I find my phone and text Hawke. "I'm going to kick your ass."
"I'm falling asleep," I share. "Will I see you tomorrow?"
"You'll see me every tomorrow," Hawke vows, telling me exactly what I want to hear.
Like her AUTHOR page on Facebook
Follow her (You know Hawke does) on Twitter
Become a FAN on Goodreads
Visit her Author Page on Amazon
Subscribe to Cynthia's Blog