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)
6
GRIFFIN
“Keep your eyes to your fuckin’ self.” I slap the back of Nav’s head when Stormy walks in. The fool can’t even keep his tongue inside his mouth. Shit, neither can half the damn bar. Men and women alike are looking at Stormy, a smoke show of a woman. I watch as their eyes rove from her face to her tits, down her sexy-as-fuck legs, and when she walks by, their eyes are locked on her ass.
“Ah, shit, had no idea. You know what they’re saying about her, right?” Nav asks, eyes no longer on Stormy but on me. My own gaze is locked on the woman of the hour, so I only notice Nav isn’t looking at her anymore in my peripheral view.
“Nav, shut the fuck up. You and Jeremy are on tonight. I’ll have my walkie talkie on, but don’t use it unless it gets too rowdy.” I don’t hear him respond or stick around. Tourist season is winding down. Things shouldn’t get too bad, and I’ll step in if need be. After Barbie left, it was quiet enough for me to place an order for sandwiches, chips, and fruit. I didn’t have a clue what Stormy liked besides tequila. Pretty sure her liver would revolt if I brought out the preferred Patron she drinks. Club sandwiches were the easiest thing I could think of, and it’d be easier for her to dissect if needed. Once the guys came in, I went into the office to put in the beer and liquor order. The last thing I need to before I head out next Thursday is make sure paper and plastic products are stocked in the supply closet.
“Message received, loud and clear,” I hear Nav say to my back. The crowd parts, allowing me to easily navigate. A few nod their heads, some say hello. I ignore all of them. I’m on a one-track mission for Stormy, who is standing near the door, her eyes searching for me. A sweet smile softens her face when she finds me. Gone is her frown. Stormy’s wearing a black tight-fitting top with not even a hint of cleavage, but these fuckers have no problem salivating at wanting a taste. Too fucking bad. They’ll never get that ride they’re after. Her short jean skirt is tight around her hips, showing off legs that were made to be wrapped around my head or waist. My mouth waters yet again. I tuck my tongue inside my cheek to hold off any wayward thoughts that would have my cock thicken in length. Clearly, the head between my legs isn’t willing to sit down and shut up. A vision of Stormy with that sinful skirt around her waist, legs spread open while she’s in my lap assaults my mind. Her top pulled up, bra beneath her tits holding them up for me to wrap my mouth around her taut nipples, one right after the other. Jesus, this woman has my dick wrapped in knots.
“Hey.” I can barely hear her over the music playing through the speakers, the bass vibrating off the walls as well as the stomping of feet on the dance floor.
My head descends, mouth going to her ear and whispering, “Baby girl.” Her hands come to my sides, hands clenching the fabric of my shirt, white and emblazoned with High Tide Tavern in bold black letters, my uniform in case I’m needed. When Stormy saw me earlier, the shirt I was wearing was grey, stained, and soaked with sweat after working outside. A complaint came in about the lights in the parking lot not working. The last thing I want is for someone to leave the bar at two o’clock in the morning and not feel safe.
“Griff.” She leans into me, digging into my sides. The need to get us away from the doorway in case a person comes barreling inside and slams into her drives me.
“Come on.” My teeth nip at her earlobe before I pull away, maneuvering us so I’m now beside her and my hand is on her lower back. What I don’t expect is Stormy to loop her arm around me in a similar fashion or for her thumb to slide into my belt loop. There are a few looks tossed our way as I we walk toward the back of the bar. “Hey, Griff, good to see you,” a customer says. His hand is out, and fuck it all to hell, I can’t necessarily do nothing. They’re paying customers, the reason I’m able to breathe easier and not have to work as many shifts as I once did.
“Hey, man, good to see you, too.” My right hand takes his. Unfortunately, it causes me to lose my hold on Stormy’s waist. It’s quick with one man, then it turns into another asking, “Hey, you plan on expanding anytime soon? I’ve got a friend who retired and is looking to sell his bar in the town over.” Talking shop isn’t what I want to do right now, and adding another bar to my already hectic schedule is even less.