Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Ever since that first time in her room, where we’d almost burned down the building, all I could do and/or think about was putting my penis in any hole in her body that was willing to accept me. We’d been going at it like rabbits. In the apartment, in abandoned prisons, in the rental car to and from those prisons. A small part of me wanted to take her places—restaurants, the movies, picnics, vacations—just so we could screw there, but that was treading too closely to real-relationship territory, and apparently, falling in bed with her hadn’t robbed me of all my gray matter.
Just 99 percent of it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
RIGGS
“How do I look?” Duffy marched out of her room, wrapped in one of her dresses. It killed me to see her hiding those curves in ruffled blouses and weird-ass frocks more fit for a runway. And I’m not talking a Victoria’s Secret runway. I’m talking the designer shit I used to see when I accidentally landed on the Fashion Channel in the middle of the night as a teenager while I was high, hoping to catch a nip slip. The kind of weird, asymmetrical, sharp-edged dresses that made you wonder how much pot the designer had been smoking prior to sending out their sketches.
Couldn’t she fill her closet with pencil skirts and edible thongs? What kind of gold digger was she?
A terrible one, obviously.
But she twirled in her tiny living room, looking hopeful, and I refused to kill her vibe.
“Yeah, the dress is very . . .” I cleared my throat. “Dressy.”
I was slung on the couch, stroking my dick through my briefs. I was still crashing on the sofa, which worked well for both of us, because it made us remember there was a red line made out of fucking lava, and we were both unauthorized to cross it. “Where’re you off to today?”
“The Social Circle.” She bit her lip nervously, her purple eyes glittering. “It’s an exclusive social club for the rich and famous. They’re looking for an assistant manager. Great salary. Superb benefits. And, of course, this is the playground for the kind of men I want to bag, so Cocksucker could finally be out of the picture.”
“They’ll love you,” I said, and meant it, still touching my cock, in case she noticed and wanted to go for a joystick ride before the job interview. “You’re hardworking, highly motivated, not to mention fucking stunning. Most places just can’t sponsor you at a moment’s notice.”
“I know.” She sighed, then walked over to the shoe rack and pulled out a pair of heels. “It’s so bloody frustrating.”
The offer to have her work for me full time was on the tip of my tongue. Especially now, when she was shopping for her next meal ticket. I’d be able to pay her under the table, take her with me around the world, fuck her, and work. A quadruple win in my books, and a pretty sweet arrangement altogether. The only thing stopping me from doing so was the knowledge I was going to get bored with her in a few weeks, max. I always did.
Good thing Duffy didn’t expect anything from me. When we weren’t working together or screwing each other, we were just roommates who got along well. Nothing more. Nothing less.
“Well.” She blew out air. “Wish me luck.”
“Break a le . . . never mind.” I shook my head. “It’d be a nightmare to nail you. Best of luck.”
She rolled her eyes, grabbed her purse, and swatted my shoulder with it. “Check on Charlie, will you?”
Groaning, I peeled myself off the couch and wobbled to the fridge. “Sure. Why not. It’s not like I have a job to do.”
“Has Emmett said anything about the pictures?” She twisted her head to follow me while I opened the fridge.
“Yeah.” I took out the milk and guzzled it straight from the carton.
“Well?” Her purple eyes lit up. I loved that she honestly cared.
“That they were perfect.” I wiped my mouth with my arm before returning the milk to the fridge. “But now I need something else to keep me busy. I’m feeling claustrophobic.”
“He’ll give you another project soon.” Her face was a vision of sympathy and hopefulness. “And soon, this will all be over and you can go back to traveling the world.”
With Duffy out of the apartment, I had plenty of time to burn. I went downstairs and did some grocery shopping for that high-maintenance neighbor of ours and tried to ignore my traveling itch. The only way to scratch it was to board a plane and get the hell out of here. But I’d promised Duffy I’d be here to help her with the visa application. Responsibility sucked balls.
On my way back to the building, I stopped by a diner and grabbed Charlie some coffee and apple pie. Then I went up to check on the old man. I knocked on his door, feeling like a fucking sitcom character from the seventies. Neighborly visits didn’t exactly scream the rock star life. He didn’t answer.