Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 26161 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26161 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
I need to talk to Ren.
My flesh heats as I think about the last time we “talked.” It ended with his hand down my pants. And before I let him strip me and fuck me on the bed he’d just used with some sick whore, he sent me on my way. That hurt, but in a way, I was more than relieved. Not because I didn’t want to sleep with Ren—because in that moment, I so did—but because I didn’t want to be leftovers.
Stupid girl.
Stupid, stupid girl.
I’m not going to sleep with him. I’m just going to talk with him.
Ripping the note from the notebook, I fold it and shove it into my jeans pocket. I make a pass through the bathroom to make sure I look okay. My blond waves are messy and I have dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep. I look like shit. Good, maybe he’ll stay back and let me talk.
I pull my phone out from my back pocket and check Twitter. Ren is a social media nut. He doesn’t miss a beat on letting the whole damn world know his location. It’s why I find him so easily. It’s like he wants to be found.
Tonight he’s listening to a band called Berlin Scandal at a dive bar called Stuckey’s. He’s tweeted seven times commenting on their unique alternative sound and how radio stations should be playing their songs because “these guys are gonna blow up.” People eat up the hype and he already has thousands of retweets. I feel crappy about crashing in on a work thing, but this can’t wait. I need to talk to him.
I take a cab downtown and fly out of the vehicle after tossing some bills at the driver. The cover is twenty freaking dollars, but the line to get in is wrapped around the entire building. No doubt thanks to Ren’s tweets.
I’m about to give in and just opt to wait until later when the bar empties. That is, until the door guy crooks a finger at me to come to the front of the line. Biting my lip, I go to him, ignoring the huffs and curses from the people behind me.
“Lose the jacket,” he demands.
Rolling my eyes, I slip the jean jacket off, tie it around my waist, and then look up at him expectantly, knowing full well my shirt is skintight and more revealing than anything I’d usually wear. It was one of Kate’s that she bought but didn’t fit into.
Grinning down at my cleavage, he places a lanyard over my head that says groupie splashed across it.
Gross.
He then opens the door and slaps my ass, shooing me inside.
As soon as I burst into the dark bar, heavy guitar riffs assault me. The bass thumps and the drummer is pounding away. I hate to admit it, but Ren’s right. These guys are good. Pushing through the crowd, I make my way toward the front. I’m short and skinny, so I slide in between people easily. When I make it up to the front and grip the fencing keeping the people back, I turn my head left and right, seeking Ren out.
Nowhere.
Where the hell is he?
Someone presses into me from behind. Some asshole who reeks of hard liquor. When I push back, he nuzzles my hair.
“Come home with me,” the drunk bellows, his hand roaming up my bare arm.
I freeze, panicked at his boldness. I push against him again, but he’s stronger than me. His erection pokes my back. Before I can freak out, he’s jerked away from me. Powerful hands grip my hips and spin me around. As soon as my eyes meet familiar brown ones, I sag in relief.
His mouth moves, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. Concern flashes in his eyes, confusing me. When he grips my throat in a gentle, but possessive way, I don’t freak out. He leans forward, bringing his mouth to my ear.
“Are you okay?” he yells above the music.
I nod, blinking away the tears. Since when did the enemy become my savior? His thumb caresses the flesh on my throat, lingering on where my blood pumps rapidly through my jugular vein.
“If you’re going to stalk me, at least ride with me to these places,” he barks at me. “This shithole is only good for one thing. The music. You have to watch these assholes, though. They’re grabby and mouthy and always looking for a fight. You’re not safe here alone.”
The crowd pushes him from behind, making his hard body press against mine. I grip the sides of his T-shirt to keep from falling to the floor. One of his hands circles around me, resting on the small of my back. He pulls me into him. My heart rate races when I realize it’s not because he’s copping a feel, but because he’s protecting me from being smashed into the fence. His breath is hot on my ear, but he doesn’t talk again, he nips at my earlobe.