Page 37 of Trailer Park Billionaire
And his hands. Big, capable hands that lifted box after box tonight like it was nothing. I bet he could lift me like I was nothing, weightless in his arms, if he wanted me to be.
Oh, I bet he’d be good with those hands.
I groan, splashing more water on my face.
Nope. Absolutely not. I cannot be thinking about that.
About him pinning me against a wall, his fingers tracing slow, torturous paths along my skin. About how his voice would drop—husky and teasing—telling me exactly what he’d want me to do, how much he likes seeing me unravel.
None of that.
I should be thinking about how to come up with the 100k. About what would happen to me if I don’t. You know, real problems. Not the problem of what Ben Lyon’s mouth might feel like trailing down my stomach. Not the problem of how easy it would be to let him push me into my mattress, pressing all that solid, infuriating warmth against me, making me forget every damn reason I shouldn’t want this.
I grip the edge of the sink, inhaling sharply.
Fuck me, I need help. Possibly in the form of a good spanking. Or therapy. Or an exorcism.
If Ben was here right now, standing in my doorway with that stupid smirk and those rolled-up sleeves, I’m not entirely sure what I’d do—if I’d go that far. I might push him out and slam the door in his face. Because that’s a good decision.
Or maybe I’d pull him in and press my lips to his, just to see if he tastes as good as he looks and smells. Because I have a knack for bad decisions.
But we’re trying to avoid those.
I shut off the bathroom light and march over to my bed like a woman on a mission. Sleep. That’s what I need—to catch up on my routine. Not a raccoon-petting distraction. Not his smile, or his hands, veiny forearms, or the fact that beneath all that annoying charm, there’s something in him that makes me feel… nope.
Shut up, brain.
I pull the covers over my head, resolutely ignoring the heat still lingering where there’s usually just the very persistent knot of worry.
When I wake the next morning, the sun is already up, and I slept right through my alarm. Of course, I did. Maybe the third round with my magic wand was one too many, but it did help me fall asleep eventually.
This is how it starts. How you gradually deviate from your routine and begin to spiral. I need to be careful not to let that happen.
With a drawn-out groan, I roll over and grab the notepad from the drawer of my bedside table, determined not to let that happen. Instead, I need to solve some problems. First things first: The teensy-tiny 100k problem. It’s time to solve it like the rational, responsible adult I am. I click my pen and write at the top of the page:
Ways to Make 100k inOne Month~29 Days
1. Sell a kidney
Pros: Immediate payout.
Cons:- I like having two.
- Don’t know any butchers or surgeons or mafia bosses.
- Death.
More pros: Possibly death.
2. Find a sugar daddy
Pros: Take money from rich man/men.
Cons: Really hard to find asexual men in their late nineties who’d be willing to put me in theirwill within a week and then die under non-suspicious circumstances two days after.
3. Win the lottery.
Pros: Fast and efficient.
