Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
As though he can read my thoughts, he steps behind me, pinning me against the counter, his hard dick pressing into me. “I’ll get you a stick for every color of the rainbow.”
My stupid heart trips over itself. “That’s not romantic. It’s weird.”
His rumbling laugh fills dark parts of me. Rather than going out on a date, I want to force him to sit on a stool while I paint every part of him, immortalizing him on canvas and displaying him somewhere for all to see. He kisses the side of my neck gently at first and then sucks on the skin hard enough to make a loud pop when he pulls off.
“Marking your territory?”
“Absolutely. Can’t have any of the other guys in this town salivating over what’s mine.”
“Not yours.”
“You let me claim you with that kiss.” He nips my neck. “Mine. Mine. Mine.”
I like the fluttery sensation his words give me, but I’m too stubborn to acknowledge it. Pushing my ass against his eager dick, I send him backwards away from me.
“Let’s go before I decide I don’t want to go on a date with you.”
“You’re the gloomiest rainbow I ever did see.”
I flip him the bird. “And you’re the most lawless cop I’ve ever met.”
He laughs and then saunters away like my words make him happy. I follow after him, rolling my eyes. I like to pretend he annoys me, and maybe at first, he did. But now, he’s growing on me. I guess letting a guy eat your ass will knock down some barriers.
After we say goodbye to Sparkles, who’s taken a liking to my chaise, we head out to Atlas’s truck. He opens my car door like a gentleman but the wicked gleam in his ocean-blue eyes says otherwise.
That gleam promises deviant behavior later.
I’m going to hold him to that promise.
“We’re going to eat at Comida’s, and then we’re going for a seaside drive,” he informs me once he settles in the driver’s seat. “It’ll be romantic.”
“You can’t fool me,” I grumble, scooting closer to him. “We both know what kind of guy you really are.”
He starts the engine and puts the truck in reverse. Once he’s on the road, he slings an arm over my shoulders and pulling me against him.
“What kind of guy is that?” His fingers roam up and down the side of my arm, making the skin tingle.
“The antihero,” I huff though I don’t believe it.
He barks out a laugh as though he’s both amused and proud of that reply. We don’t converse the rest of the drive. I inhale his clean scent and the smell of his cologne. My hand settles on his jean-clad thigh, my fingers teasing over the hard muscle there.
“Keep it up, and we’ll skip right past the romance,” he warns. “And if I plan on teaching you to drive later, I can’t do that with jizz-soaked jeans.”
“Gross,” I mutter, but then his words spear me in the heart. “Wait. What? Drive? I told you I can’t! I don’t have my license!”
“I’ll protect you from the law,” he teases. “And you’ll never get it if you don’t ever practice. It’ll be fine. Trust me.”
As much as I want to argue, I don’t. I’m terrified of driving his truck, but a small thrill shoots through me. Isn’t this what I’ve wanted? To stop being babied? To be treated like an adult? Atlas gives me shit and doesn’t treat me like a delicate flower.
“Fine,” I growl, “but if your engine blows up, I don’t want to hear any bitching about it.”
“If you blow my engine,” Atlas says before turning into a parking spot in front of Comida’s, “then you’ll just have to blow me to make up for it.”
“Ugh. Like I said. A child.”
Atlas’s boyish laughter chases away any lingering fear of being behind the wheel and teases out a laugh of my own.
He’s fun.
It’s about time I’ve gotten some.
Fun, that is.
Atlas
“Curb check,” I grit out a second before the truck bounces hard.
“This thing is too big,” Callan bites back in irritation. “Just drive back. I can’t.”
“Nope. Keep going.”
He mutters out a string of curse words, but he doesn’t take his eye off the road. It’s cute how nervous he is. His knuckles are white as he clutches onto the steering wheel, back ramrod straight. Taking him driving at night probably wasn’t the best idea, but he’ll have to learn eventually. Aside from his cursing and frequent curb checking, he’s actually doing great.
“It’s not common knowledge I’m gay,” I reveal once we’re on Whelks Bay Avenue heading northeast. “Not my sister. Not Jax.”
“You’re in the closet?”
“More like it’s none of their goddamn business.”
The truck goes quiet for a few miles until we reach Whelks Beach. Callan pulls into the empty parking lot and shuts off the truck. The wind is intense, shaking the truck as it barrels off Wolffish Bay.