Slow Play (The Rules #3) by Monica Murphy
Newly broke girl Alexandria Asher just wants to live a normal life. After her parents are sent to prison on embezzlement charges, she enrolls in college under her mother’s maiden name and tries her best to pretend she’s someone else. Tristan Chadwick is everything Alex is trying to avoid. A seemingly egotistical, lazy, rich jerk, she dumps her beer on his head when he comes on to her one night at a party. This only spurs Tristan into action. He loves nothing more than a challenge. And the beautiful Alex is exactly the type of challenge that intrigues him.
Despite her reluctance, Alex finds herself quickly involved with Tristan. Underneath that playboy exterior is a good guy, a sweet and sexy guy who she is undoubtedly falling for. What they both don’t realize is the actions of Alex’s parents are the reason for so much tragedy in Tristan’s family. And when Tristan discovers who Alex and her family really is, can he forgive and forget?
Excerpt Slow Play (The Rules #3) by Monica Murphy
Slowly I turn to find a tall guy standing before me, and it takes everything I have not to roll my eyes.
Most of the dudes at this Halloween party tonight are beyond obnoxious, either wearing the most ridiculous costumes ever or behaving like assholes. Something about a mask and drinking too much booze on the spookiest night of the year brings out the worst in them.
This guy, in his sleazy pimp costume, is no exception. And wasn’t his costume played out already years ago? Made out of cheap crushed purple velvet trimmed in leopard print, with wide collars and bell bottom pants, topped by a matching purple velvet and leopard trimmed hat. He’s wearing mirrored sunglasses so I can’t see his eyes, which makes me think he’s kind of shady. The grin on his face is huge, in that giant, shit-eating way good looking guys smile.
Because he so is. Good looking. He knows it too.
Oh, and he has a cane. That he’s pointing right at me at about mid-thigh.
Like he’s trying to lift the hem of my skirt.
I take a step away from him and send him my most evil glare. “You look ridiculous.”
“You look hot as fuck.” He lowers the cane and takes a step toward me, that confident grin he’s wearing perfectly matching his horrific costume. He looks like a greedy pimp. Or what we regular people think a greedy pimp must look like.
“Eloquent,” I tell him, crossing my arms in front of my chest. I ignore the little fizz of pleasure his comment gives me. I should not like that he called me hot as fuck. How crude. He’s a pig.
His head tilts down and he actually reaches up to push his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose so he can…what? Get a better look at me? He’s got a lot of nerve. “Nice cleavage, angel.”
I don’t have what constitutes as much cleavage yet somehow, he makes me feel dirty for wearing a costume with a low neckline. Must be his tone of voice. Or more likely the lecherous way he’s checking me out. Do girls really find his behavior attractive? Granted, he’s good looking from what I can tell but his attitude is shit.
“Do you come by the sleazy comments naturally? Or are you powered by the costume?” I bat my eyelashes like I’m as innocent as my halo implies I am.
He pushes his sunglasses back up, covering suddenly thunderous blue eyes. He’d seemed infinitely amused with himself, with the situation only a moment ago and I’m surprised at the sudden shift. “My flirting skills are in the toilet with this costume tonight, I swear to fucking God,” he mutters.
His blunt honesty makes me laugh and he smiles slowly in return. “Newsflash. Girls don’t find pimps that attractive. We’re taught from a young age to run in the opposite direction when we spot one.”
“I’ve discovered that.” He rubs his chin, cupping it with his thumb and index finger and I watch those fingers move in barely contained fascination. He has nice hands. Wide palms, long fingers…
“You run into many pimps?”
His deep voice breaks through my thoughts and I give a slight shake of my head. “You’re my first.”
The faintly leering grin is back, just like that. Inside I grow cold. He’s too cocky for me. Too sure of himself. I’ve dealt with enough of these types to last me a lifetime. “Well, let me introduce myself—”