Take the Chance (Top Shelf Romance #9) - Brittainy Cherry Page 0,54

call me until you are high or having sex.”

“I’m probably not going to call you while I’m having sex.”

“That’s fine,” he said, grabbing his fedora off the desk and placing it on his head. “It probably wouldn’t last long enough for you to dial my number anyway,” he mocked.

God, I hated that man.

Too bad he was my best friend.

“Hey, Talon’s down for a nap. I just wanted to see if you wanted me to order a piz—” Lucy’s words faded away as she stepped into my office. “What are you doing?” she asked warily.

I set my phone down on my desk and cleared my throat. “Nothing.”

She smirked and shook her head. “You were taking a selfie.”

“I was not,” I argued. “A pizza is fine. Just cheese on my half.”

“No, no, no, you cannot change the subject. Why are you taking selfies while dressed in a suit and tie?”

I straightened my tie and went back to my desk. “Well, if you have to know, I need a picture of myself to upload on this site.”

“What site? Are you joining Facebook?”

“No.”

“Then which site?” She giggled to herself. “Anything but Tinder and you’ll be okay.”

My jaw tightened, and she stopped laughing.

“Oh my God, you’re joining Tinder?!” she hollered.

“Say it a bit louder, Lucille. I’m not certain the neighbors heard you.”

“I’m sorry, I just…” She walked into my office and sat on the edge of my desk. “G.M. Russell is joining the world of Tinder…I knew it felt a little cold in the house.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, when I first met you, I figured you were the devil, which meant your home was hell, which means with it now being cold that—”

“Hell has finally frozen over. Clever, Lucille.”

She reached for my cell phone and started trying to unlock it. “Can I see your photos?”

“What? No.”

“Why not? You do know Tinder is like…a hookup site, right?”

“I’m fully aware of what Tinder is.”

Her cheeks reddened and she bit her bottom lip. “You’re trying to get laid, eh?”

“Professor Oliver is convinced my writing is suffering from the fact that I haven’t had sex in a while to loosen myself up. He thinks I’m uptight.”

“What?!” she gasped. “You?! Uptight?! No way!”

“Anyway, he’s one hundred percent wrong about the manuscript. It’s good.”

She rubbed her hands together, giddy. “Is it? Can I read it?”

I hesitated, and she rolled her eyes.

“I’m your biggest fan, remember? If I don’t love it, you’ll know Ollie was right. If I do love it, you’ll know you’re right.”

Well, I did love to be right.

I handed her the chapters, and she sat reading, her eyes darting back and forth over the pages. Every now and then she’d glance at me with a concerned look. Finally, she finished and cleared her throat. “A lion?”

Shit.

I rolled my eyes. “I need to get laid.”

“Take off your tie, Graham.”

“Excuse me?”

“I need you to unlock your phone and take off your tie and the suit jacket. No girl who is trying to have sex is in search of a man with a freaking suit and tie on. Plus, you buttoned the top button on your shirt.”

“It’s classy.”

“It looks like your neck has a muffin top.”

“You’re being ridiculous. This is a custom-made designer suit.”

“You rich people and your labels. All I hear is that it’s not a penis, and therefore it eliminates your opportunities to get laid. Now, unlock your phone and take off the tie.”

Annoyed, I followed her orders. “Better?” I asked, crossing my arms.

She grimaced. “A little. Here, unbutton the top three buttons on your shirt.”

I did as she said, and she nodded, taking photographs.

“Yes! Chest hair—women who are trying to get it on love some chest hair. It’s like the three little pigs; it has to be the right amount. Not too much, not too little, your hair is justtttt right.” She grinned.

“Have you been drinking again?” I asked.

She laughed. “No. This is just me.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

After taking some shots, she studied them with the biggest frown I’d ever seen. “Yeah, no. You have to take off your shirt completely.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not taking off my shirt in front of you.”

“Graham,” Lucy whined, rolling her eyes. “You have your shirt off every other day doing that kangaroo thing with Talon. Now shut up and take off your shirt.”

After some more arguing, I finally gave in. She even had me switch into dark black jeans—to “look more manly.” She started snapping photographs, telling me to turn left and right, to smile with my eyes—whatever that meant—and to