Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 55171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
“See you later.” Barbie finishes up and then heads toward the employee area. I get back to looking over the bottles, checking which ones need to be replaced before I head to the storage area to restock and figure out what we need. The best thing I did was make this a true bar. No food means one less thing to deal with. The downside is too much alcohol in a person’s body without food, fuck, it makes for a nasty cleanup at times.
“Later. You want me to walk you out?” I ask, already aware of the answer. Barbie has yet to take me up on my offer, but come next weekend, Nav will escort her out when they close down. She knows if not, I’ll fire her ass.
“No, I’m good. Get to work, slacker.” I don’t look up from what I’m doing. It doesn’t matter if I did; she’d be gone, leaving me with two patrons. The only reason we open early is for our regulars. When they quit coming, I’ll re-evaluate our operating hours. Until then, we’ll keep on keepin’ on.
5
STORMY
“Ugh, this is impossible.” I’m sitting on the floor in my living room, laptop on the coffee table while pouring over the Internet in search of a place that has availability within the next few days. I swear the same ones keep popping up; I get excited only to realize I’ve already called them when my mom and aunt were here yesterday, the phone still commandeered. Today is the last day, literally. If I can’t find anything to move into by Wednesday at the latest, I’ll be screwed. Which means I’ll be finding a storage unit and have to move in with my mom. No one wants to move back home after being out on their own for so long. And while my mom and aunt are super chill, it’s still a piece of my independence that will be sliced through. Kind of like a big, fat failure on your forehead, you know, like the one on mine right now. Except this godforsaken town is pinning it all on me. Let’s just continue doing the same for the remainder of this shitty-ass month.
It also doesn’t help matters that my whole way home, I was anywhere but where I needed to be. My mind was on a certain man, you know, the man I shouldn’t want, the man who makes me feel something. And I still have his sunglasses. I guess I’ll give those back to him in a couple of hours when I see him. Griff created a whole slew of nerves that are swirling through my nervous system, a buildup of what could happen—not could happen, would happen, especially because I’d fling myself at him to feel like the woman I know I am. The one who I allowed Zach to staunch. Before my ex-fiancé, I had a few boyfriends, dabbled in various activities, just not sex. I gave my virginity to him, stayed with him, and never once got off with his hands, mouth, or cock. The past boyfriends could at least make me feel desired. So, yeah, it’s been years since I’ve felt the way Griff makes me feel. He makes me feel alive.
“Get your shit together, Stormy,” I mutter under my breath, ready to slam my laptop lid closed. If my vibrator weren’t already packed, I’d go to my room and use the life-like dick to relieve the ache between my legs. The need to unpack it sits close to the surface. I won’t, though, not yet at least. Will I probably tonight when I come back home? Absolutely, especially if Griff teases me. The way he was adamant about him being the one to make my first orgasm with a man happen. My body trembles wondering how he plans on doing so. Will he use his fingers, his mouth, a combination of both or will he say screw it, and take me with his cock. I want to know how he’ll do it, and I want it to be him. My thighs clench once again, clit throbbing, a permanent state of being whenever I think of Griff. The need to be with a real man is at an all-time high.
I click on a new link, finding a website that I’ve yet to see, and man, does it have potential. A two-bedroom, one-bath, close to the salon. A little over what I want to spend, but I can always open my books, take on a few new clients, and be okay. “Please let this work out,” I pray to the apartment gods, fingers crossed, ready to do whatever I can to make this happen. Seven days is not enough time, and had I not been in this self-imposed shelter staying away from everyone and everything, this could have been done a lot faster.