Read Online Jokers: BBW Billionaire Menage Romance (Billionaire Brothers, II Book 2) by Meg Watson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Meg Watson
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herself, then whirled around with one finger in the air.
“Okay, so can you look at this auction for me? Pretty please?”
I shook my head and tipped over so that I was laying in the fetal position on the couch.
“I am grounded from auctions, remember? In fact, I think you are the one grounded me.”
“I know, I know,” she whined through her teeth, tiptoeing over to me and poking my shoulder through the blanket. “But it's just the cutest little Gucci, and I really want it.”
I shrugged and pulled the cover over my head.
“Bree, I really want it. Like really really.”
After waiting an appropriate amount of time, I finally moaned the word Fine into the sofa just loud enough to she would hear it, and just irritably enough that she wouldn't think I enjoyed it.
She skipped from the room, reappearing in about 30 seconds with her laptop already open to the auction she was looking at. Dropping herself heavily onto the cushion next to me, she wriggled her hips against my butt until I was forced to sit up. I squinted at the screen.
“That's a fake,” I said immediately, and then dropped right back onto the sofa.
“What!? No! Aw, man…”
“I can't believe you can't see that.”
“I can't believe you can see that,” she shot back. I could hear the pout on her face even though I couldn't see her.
“Everybody can see it.”
“No, not everyone can see it. That’s why those people make so much money,” she said reasonably.
“Well I can see it, and you should be glad that I can. I just saved you a lot of money.”
“Yeah, thank you for saving me from this bright red Gucci bag that I want so badly I am gagging for it.”
“You're welcome,” I mumbled into the sofa as she got up and stomped from the room. In a few seconds I heard the tap snapping on in the bathroom above my head.
I felt under the blanket for the ridge of the laptop. She had just left it, right there on the sofa.
I should probably look for a real Gucci bag for her.
And that's it. Because I'm grounded from eBay and I know it. I would just look for one real auction that has a non-phony bag and buy only that. For my best friend. And that's it.
For real.
CHAPTER 9
“I thought you said he lived in Printers’ Row,” I grumbled as we sat in the smelly cab with no air conditioning. I was getting more overheated by the second and wondered if I was going to make it to Evanston without requiring a new round of deodorant.
“Yeah, he does,” she said vaguely as she typed with her thumbs on her smartphone. “Or something like that. South Loop, maybe.”
“You don't know?” I complained.
She sighed impatiently through her nose and shot me a look.
“It's only been a few days,” she retorted. "We haven't had time to tour all of each other's important landmarks just yet. We were a little busy with the, you know, physical landmarks… ”
"You're fucking a guy and you don't know where he lives."
“I don't know precisely where he lives. I don't know where he works or his Social Security Number, either, and I don't hear you complaining about that!”
I rolled my eyes and watched the hipsters on the sidewalk. I remembered this neighborhood was all Middle Eastern just a couple of years ago, but now it had been taken over and gentrified. At least you could still get a decent Indian buffet here though.
“I'm just saying, if it were me you would probably be all over me for —”
“I'm not all over you for anything,” she interrupted. She turned her head toward me and glared a warning look. “In fact, I've been nothing but supportive about your weird transformation into insociable porn star, now haven't I?”
“I think you mean insatiable.”
“Boy, do I ever!”
She turned away from me and crossed her arms to indicate that the conversation was over as far as she was concerned. I sulked and toed the nasty carpet in the back seat. I didn't even want to think about what kind of goo had matted all the fibers together.
This
“Okay, so can you look at this auction for me? Pretty please?”
I shook my head and tipped over so that I was laying in the fetal position on the couch.
“I am grounded from auctions, remember? In fact, I think you are the one grounded me.”
“I know, I know,” she whined through her teeth, tiptoeing over to me and poking my shoulder through the blanket. “But it's just the cutest little Gucci, and I really want it.”
I shrugged and pulled the cover over my head.
“Bree, I really want it. Like really really.”
After waiting an appropriate amount of time, I finally moaned the word Fine into the sofa just loud enough to she would hear it, and just irritably enough that she wouldn't think I enjoyed it.
She skipped from the room, reappearing in about 30 seconds with her laptop already open to the auction she was looking at. Dropping herself heavily onto the cushion next to me, she wriggled her hips against my butt until I was forced to sit up. I squinted at the screen.
“That's a fake,” I said immediately, and then dropped right back onto the sofa.
“What!? No! Aw, man…”
“I can't believe you can't see that.”
“I can't believe you can see that,” she shot back. I could hear the pout on her face even though I couldn't see her.
“Everybody can see it.”
“No, not everyone can see it. That’s why those people make so much money,” she said reasonably.
“Well I can see it, and you should be glad that I can. I just saved you a lot of money.”
“Yeah, thank you for saving me from this bright red Gucci bag that I want so badly I am gagging for it.”
“You're welcome,” I mumbled into the sofa as she got up and stomped from the room. In a few seconds I heard the tap snapping on in the bathroom above my head.
I felt under the blanket for the ridge of the laptop. She had just left it, right there on the sofa.
I should probably look for a real Gucci bag for her.
And that's it. Because I'm grounded from eBay and I know it. I would just look for one real auction that has a non-phony bag and buy only that. For my best friend. And that's it.
For real.
CHAPTER 9
“I thought you said he lived in Printers’ Row,” I grumbled as we sat in the smelly cab with no air conditioning. I was getting more overheated by the second and wondered if I was going to make it to Evanston without requiring a new round of deodorant.
“Yeah, he does,” she said vaguely as she typed with her thumbs on her smartphone. “Or something like that. South Loop, maybe.”
“You don't know?” I complained.
She sighed impatiently through her nose and shot me a look.
“It's only been a few days,” she retorted. "We haven't had time to tour all of each other's important landmarks just yet. We were a little busy with the, you know, physical landmarks… ”
"You're fucking a guy and you don't know where he lives."
“I don't know precisely where he lives. I don't know where he works or his Social Security Number, either, and I don't hear you complaining about that!”
I rolled my eyes and watched the hipsters on the sidewalk. I remembered this neighborhood was all Middle Eastern just a couple of years ago, but now it had been taken over and gentrified. At least you could still get a decent Indian buffet here though.
“I'm just saying, if it were me you would probably be all over me for —”
“I'm not all over you for anything,” she interrupted. She turned her head toward me and glared a warning look. “In fact, I've been nothing but supportive about your weird transformation into insociable porn star, now haven't I?”
“I think you mean insatiable.”
“Boy, do I ever!”
She turned away from me and crossed her arms to indicate that the conversation was over as far as she was concerned. I sulked and toed the nasty carpet in the back seat. I didn't even want to think about what kind of goo had matted all the fibers together.
This
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