Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 71289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
He was clearly comfortable here, and by the look of all the ladies crawling all over him, he was popular to boot.
Then he had to go and open that mouth of his, and at the sound of his deep, raspy voice raced down my spine, causing me to shiver.
I immediately took my drink and headed the other way, not wanting to get caught up in the mess that usually was a prospect.
The Uncertain Saints didn’t let many people into their fold.
In fact, there were only six members total in the club, and none of them seemed to have the time or inclination to add more to their group.
I knew there had to be some kind of special circumstances for the men of the Uncertain Saints to even consider adding that man to the group.
Which meant he was fucked up.
And I didn’t do fucked up.
I had my own fucked up to deal with.
Kind of like quitting my job.
Two hours and four hard lemonades later, I was feeling quite nice.
I hadn’t thought about my job once, and I was having a great time watching the comings and goings.
“Why the long face?” The man I’d been studiously avoiding all night, Apple, asked.
I turned my face and shrugged. “Nothing.”
And at that point, there really was nothing wrong.
“You look like you’re about to kill someone,” the annoying man observed.
I shrugged, picking at the invisible lint on my shoulder before I picked up my spoon and shoveled another bite of the chicken spaghetti someone had made into my mouth.
It was pretty good, but it wasn’t like Papaw fixed it.
There was good, and then there was good. And this wasn’t it.
We sat next to each other in companionable silence as we both ate our food.
I glanced over at the man’s plate and nearly laughed when I saw how much food was on it.
His helping of food mounded high on his plate, and I feared for the integrity of the Styrofoam that was straining to maintain its form under the weight of all that food.
“What are you looking at?” He grumbled, not bothering to turn his face.
Instead he kept shoveling his food into his mouth in a great imitation of a Hoover Vacuum
“I was just wondering if you left any for the rest of them,” I waved my hand at the room absently, going back to my food.
“Everyone has already eaten,” he muttered. “Apparently, when you’re a prospect, you eat last.”
“Hmm,” I drawled. “Imagine that.”
He snorted.
“Why are you a prospect, anyway?” I asked.
“Because I want to be,” he muttered, and I felt the instant coolness that came with the words.
I didn’t say anything else, only went back to eating my food.
It was him that went back to the companionable silence, the weird wall of tension between us slowly dissipating until the only thing left was awareness.
He was a sexy man.
He was tall with unusual blonde hair that I couldn’t decide whether or not had a hint of red running through it.
He had a blonde beard that was trimmed close to his face, and wasn’t over the top like some of the others in the MC.
He had light blue eyes that were rimmed with a hint of green and a very muscular body.
Not Hulk muscular, but a nicely toned body that looked to be from working rather than working out.
Not that I didn’t think he did one over the other. He just didn’t look like he was the type of guy to go to the gym all the time.
“So what do you do?” I asked curiously.
“I’m a game warden…and a lumberjack,” he muttered, slurping up another forkful of chicken spaghetti.
“A lumberjack?” I asked. “Is that even a real occupation anymore?”
He turned to look at me.
“Yes.”
One word was all I received, and I knew better than to continue with that line of questioning.
“I’m in school to become a paralegal,” I told him, sensing a change of subject was needed.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “I heard.”
“You did?” I asked in confusion. Had I already told him that?
No.
He nodded. “Your brother, Ridley, told me.”
I blinked.
Ridley didn’t often talk about me to other people.
I was a very private person, but then again, having what I had, and experiencing what I did, there was a good reason for it.
“Oh,” was the only thing I could think to say.
“He said you hate doing it,” he commented.
I snorted.
“Yeah, you could say that.”
“Then why do you do it?”
He was a persistent bastard.
“Because I need the job…and the money,” I said, raising my brows at him.
And it was hard to find a job that would work around my ailment.
“What’s so bad about it?” He pushed his plate away from him.
It was completely empty and looked almost as if he’d licked the damn thing.
“You really wanna know?” I wondered.
He nodded.
“Well, my day started off a little like this: I walked into the building to hear a man say, ‘You’re always looking for a man to sweep you off your feet. Well, let me tell you something, woman!’” I imitated the way the man had sounded. “’Sweeping is your job!’”