Working It by Kendall Ryan Read Free Book Online

sidewalk café at which to treat myself. Two glasses of red wine and one delicious tarte au chocolat later, I was en route to the hotel, stumbling against the uneven cobblestone streets, delightfully buzzed and carefree. Ben who? I could take on the world right now. Or just master this archaic elevator to get to my room. Either way, I was counting tonight as a win.
    When I reached my hotel room I was lightheaded and buzzed—from the wine, the sugar, my beautiful surroundings, or probably all three, but I wasn’t tired. After changing into my PJs, I fell into bed with my laptop. Perhaps some further stalking of Ben would relax me.
    But before I could even open my browser, my inbox showed I had one new message.
    The sender was Benjamin Riley Shaw.
    My heart fluttered like a little idiot inside my chest as I waited for the message to load.
Ben: You disappeared today, Tennessee. Make it back to the hotel okay?
    I hit reply, my breathing coming in fast pants.
Me: Back safe and sound. You looked great today, BTW.
    The email notification blinked within seconds. So he was awake and at his computer, too, it seemed. My heartbeat thumped unevenly in my chest.
Ben: Thank you. It was fun today. I worked out after so I should be tired, but I’m not.
    I worried why he seemed to have trouble sleeping. Perhaps it was the time zone change? And what about Gunnar’s comments today? Another message popped up before I could respond.
Ben: Want to entertain me?
    Holy shit. How did he make four little words sound so fucking hot? Especially since I heard his deep, masculine voice in my head as I read them. I took my time, thinking of a cheeky response before I replied.
Me: Hmm. What does that involve, Mr. Shaw? I should probably behave myself.
Ben: You don’t have to behave.
    If that wasn’t an open invitation to flirt with him, I didn’t know what was. I giggled to myself in the otherwise-silent room, wondering how to respond, when he sent another message through.
Ben: You want to text instead?
Me: Yes.
    And by yes, I meant, God Bless America.
    His phone number appeared in my inbox: 917 area code. How very New York City of him.
    I crossed the room and grabbed my phone, typing in his number to compose a new text. One word—simple. It was my attempt at keeping things casual so I could see where he wanted to take this.
    Me: Hi
    His response came almost immediately.
    Ben: Hi darlin’
    Me: How do I know this isn’t someone pretending to be you? I’m slightly worried I could be talking to a forty-year-old overweight creeper. ;)
    Ben was silent for a moment. Then my phone blinked at me, informing me I had a new photo message. It took my trembling fingers three attempts to tap the correct button on the screen to open it.
    Ben was leaning against the headboard wearing a white V-neck T-shirt. His hair, though still shiny and full of pomade from earlier, had been fussed with, like he’d run his hands through it several times, giving it a messy just-been-fucked look. He wasn’t smiling, but he looked sexy as hell gazing thoughtfully into the camera. My heart pounded painfully hard. Seeing his photo made this all the more real.
    Ben: Here’s your 40-year-old creeper ;)
    Me: Cute.
    Ben: Send me one of you.
    I scrolled through the photos I already had on my phone. Crap. All of these were either me with Ellie, or with our dog Buck back home. I ran to the mirror, added some lip gloss, and fluffed my flat hair. I didn’t want him to think I was taking too long or overthinking this, so I snapped a quick selfie and hit send. It wasn’t my best picture, but it wasn’t horrible either. The lighting in my room was soft and lent a sort of romantic feel to it.
    Ben: You look like a girl I fucked once.
    Holy crap! He did not just say that to me. His responses floored me. He seemed so polite and well mannered one minute and then BAM! Filthy mouthed the next. I’d honestly wondered what he thought of my looks, and his comment, however crass, told me that