Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
The song changes to some DJ Snake song I always hear on the radio, and I turn my head over my shoulder to tell Fanta to go find Sissy when dancing catches my eye near the stage. Even if I didn’t see her dancing, I’d know she was in the room. She had Cece and Mira around her, grabbing onto each other like sloppy high school drunks, but that’s not what I see right now. It’s the fact she’s wearing tight ripped jeans and a green crop top that shows her toned stomach and curvy hips before dipping down to show her swollen tits.
Fuck.
Fucking Meraki Mallory.
“Ahhhh.” Carter is back, following what I’m watching. The girls are dancing and rubbing against each other to the beat of the music. “Luca’s girl. You chatted to her lately? I know you two were close during high school.”
I pause, turning back to face him while bringing my beer to my mouth. “Luca’s girl?” My lip curls, but he doesn’t catch it. I pin him with a glare. “That’s real funny.”
Carter’s mouth closes, but before he can answer, he’s being called away by a pair of drunk jocks down the end of the bar.
“She grew up, bro. Owns the dance school in town, takes care of the kids that need it, and blows off steam on the weekends,” Smoke says from beside me.
I can’t take my fucking eyes off her, but then, that was never the problem…
“And Luca?” I ask, finally pulling away from her and looking to him.
Smoke, who is around six feet and rough as fuck, actually fucking winces. He comes from one of the founding families of Halsin, as does my great-great-whatever-grandfather from my father’s American side. “Yeah, man. They’re together, as far as I know.”
Lester snorts, tipping his head back to drink the rest of his beer. Another founding family member. “Nah, man. They’re not fucking together. They have an open relationship, kind of like when you’d all fuck each other when you were younger. When Luca is home finished being a good little Christian boy tonguing his parents’ asshole, he taps it. When he’s gone, she’s free game.” Lester taps me on the shoulder. “Go shoot your fucking shot, my man. We gotta wait for Sissy to get back anyway.”
I slowly narrow my eyes on Lester. I like the man. He’s good broth, but—“Firstly, she will never be Luca’s, or anyone’s, for that matter, and secondly, shoot my shot?” My brow rises. “Motherfucker, that girl has had my name stamped over her ass cheek since the day she was born.”
“Then why is she not with you?” Lester teases, sliding his empty bottle across the granite bar. He knows exactly what he’s doing, the fucker. It’s no secret how tight Meraki and I were growing up, and all of the brothers know it.
“Because I don’t want her,” I say truthfully before standing from the barstool and nudging my head to the back room where Fanta is standing, curling his finger at us to follow him.
“Lie,” Carter hollers, doing some fancy flick with the bottles. “Everyone fucking wants Meraki. Those green eyes matched with that tanned skin and raven hair? Bruh, she is fucking it. Then she went and got inked right up and we were all doomed. I gotta give it to Luca, he’s fucked with her. Probably has him around her little finger.”
Yeah, not if I remember Luca correctly.
I fight the urge to rip his head off his shoulders, standing from my chair. The man doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.
I need to make it from here to fucking there to sort this shit with Sissy without running into her.
Easy, amirite?
Wrong.
I remember the first time I heard a Jonathan Davis song. I was in love, that was a given. He had the kind of voice that came from drinking too much whiskey and snorting too much cocaine, but damn, when he screamed, his talent forced itself right down to the marrow of my bones. Unfortunately, it’s not Jonathan Davis playing right now. It’s some smoked-out mumble rapper that I can’t understand. I’d probably rather be at home listening to my podcast, but yet here I am. Way too old to be dancing up in this club—honestly, I’m going to see my students—and in desperate need of my favorite pajamas.
I hold up my glass to Mira and Cece. “I’ll go get refills!”
Living in a small town has its perks. Like for one, your friends don’t feel like they have to protect you from predators because everyone knows everyone. Most people have just stayed away from me—period. I’m not sure why. I’ve always known that I was somewhat attractive, without sounding self-absorbed. It got old fast when almost every single person would compliment my beauty first, so I decided to express myself by marring my skin with art. My aunt who had raised me had a hernia when I came home with my first tattoo that sat on the side of my neck. A burning rose with petals on fire. Luca knew what it meant, though he didn’t say a word. Now I have two full sleeves, a piece on the side of my neck, art on my legs and stomach, and one with delicate wording that trails down the curve of my spine in Maori and Greek numerals for the date.