Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 63055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Plus, my best friend Cole’s been no-showing for work lately. I don’t know what the fuck his problem is, but I’m not gonna bust his balls considering the shit he’s been dealing with at home this semester.
I’m starving, which makes me cranky as hell.
But I forget all about the hunger because… hot damn.
The first thing I see is her ass. Fuck-hot-amazing ass in tight jeans that show every curve of her muscular cheeks. And looooong fucking legs punctated by platform heels that lift everything.
I give a silent hooty-hoo whistle in my head in appreciation.
She’s leaning over the engine of an electric blue 2016 Porsche. My brother Winslow is beside her, pointing something out.
At first, I assume she’s a shifter, like most everyone in Wolf Ridge and try to figure out who she can be.
Then I catch her scent.
Human.
Human who should’ve been a shifter. Because she’s built like a she-wolf. Tall. Big-boned. Sturdy, athletic. She didn’t get those lean muscular legs lying around on her bed playing on her phone.
No, she works for them.
And—holy hell—when she lifts her torso and turns, my dick gets hard. Because she’s young. Maybe my age. And beautiful. Caramel-colored hair with reddish highlights, copper eyes that match, and a beauty mark that makes her look like an old-fashioned movie star.
I want to fuck her right up against that 911. Then I see the logo stretching across the front of her tits. Cave Hills Cross Country.
That explains the legs. And the expensive car. Looks like someone wrecked Daddy’s ride and brought it up here to get it fixed before he finds out.
Maybe because I’m hangry or maybe because she got my dick hard and I know I can’t have her, but I take an instant dislike to her. Fucking Cave Hills spoiled little rich bitch. Cave Hills kids only come to Wolf Ridge when they’re looking for trouble. And this girl is definitely trouble.
Winslow catches sight of me. He stops what he’s saying to level me a what-the-fuck-do-you-want? look.
And that’s when I know something’s off.
Because he wouldn’t use that expression because I interrupted him with this chick. He wouldn’t be hot for a human girl—Winslow hates humans.
Which means he wants me to stay away for some other reason.
“Don’t you have a door to replace on that VW?” he jerks his thumb toward the other bay. We were waiting for the new part to be delivered, and the VW was his project, not mine. Now I’m certain he’s trying to get rid of me.
“Yeah. Okay.” I still don’t move.
Prickles raise on the back of my neck. I look at the Porsche again. Maybe it’s not her daddy’s ride. What were they looking at under the hood?
Unease washes over me. It’s a familiar warning—the kind I get every time my big brother is about to do something really stupid. Or dangerous. Something I’m gonna have to try to talk him out of or stop.
Fuck.
Please tell me it’s not a stolen vehicle, and he’s about to help this girl fence it.
When I don’t move, Winslow’s lip curls, and his eyes flash yellow. The wolf in me experiences the threat viscerally.
I have no choice but to drop my gaze and lift my chin, showing my throat. My brother has a mean streak, and he’s dangerous as hell, even though we’re family. I toss my backpack down and head to the bay with the VW Beetle in it.
Winslow turns the radio up on his side.
Sloane
“Is that your brother?”
“That’s Bo.”
Not really an answer to my question, but I’m taking it as a yes. This Wolf Ridge Body Shop guy is scary as hell. I was given his name as a possible fence for stolen cars, and he panned out. But I don’t trust him for a second.
Seeing his younger brother, on the other hand, calms me a bit. He looks as all-American as his older brother looks thug. Yeah, his jeans are ripped and greasy, but a Wolf Ridge High football t-shirt stretches across his bulging muscles, and the rest of him is clean-cut. Good-looking, even.
I’m not used to being treated with the disgust Winslow Fenton has been throwing my way, but I feel better just having his brother here. Like he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me.
And of course, that’s probably one of those really stupid assumptions one of those psychology studies would prove shows bias based on good looks. Or clothing. Or general hotness. Just because he’s my age and gorgeous doesn’t mean he’s going to play knight in shining armor if his brother crosses me.
“He’s not a part of this,” Winslow says, the threat evident in his lowered voice. “Understand?”
“Yeah, definitely. I understand.” We’re both leaning under the hood of the Porsche, like we’re conferring about her horsepower. I have to resist peering into the other bay at Bo’s broad back and muscular ass. Focus, Sloane—jeez. “So how soon do you think you can get the new title on this?”