Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“You steal finger foods from babies?” I asked.
“Hey, they offer. What am I supposed to do? Turn them down?” he asked, making an unexpected laugh escape me.
But underneath that amusement, my fucking base, primal-ass instinct for babies reared its ugly head, making me picture him squatted down with a big-eyed toddler teetering over to him with sticky fingers holding out soggy puff treats and him accepting them.
What the fuck was that about?
I never looked at babies as anything other than a reminder to take my damn birth control.
“So, who was that dickhead?” he asked, starting to walk with me as I pushed my cart forward, a little too freaked out by the whole biological clock shit to stay in one place.
“Frederick Lasso,” I said, feeling like his name left a slimy film on my tongue.
“Old boyfriend?” he asked, making my head whip over, about to mouth off, when I noticed his smirk. “Kidding, babe. He’s got small-dick energy. You deserve better.”
“Bent-dick,” I corrected, watching as he went from confused, to thoughtful, to amused in the span of a blink.
“You know what? You’re right with that one,” he agreed.
“No. He’s…” Oh, how to describe him without giving out personal information that trouble like Dezi didn’t need to know about me. “He’s the business partner of my landlord,” I said, shrugging it off.
“Yeah? And he stalks you at the grocery store?”
“I’ve been avoiding him for—“
“Obvious reasons?” Dezi supplied.
“Exactly,” I said, nodding, though it was a complete lie.
Him being a dick actually had very little to do with it.
“So, this is quite the meet-cute,” he said, reaching to grab something off a shelf.
“We’ve met before,” I reminded him.
“That was a good meet-cute too,” he agreed, nodding.
“Do you frequently find yourself intrigued by women who slap the shit out of you, or am I special?”
“Oh, babe,” he said, shooting me a devilish smile that made me almost wish I hadn’t looked in his direction, “I have a feeling you’re very special.”
“Then you need better judgment skills. I’m just a surly bartender who gets her kicks out of beating up random customers.”
“My dream woman,” he said, making me roll my eyes as I grabbed the next thing off my list. “Any idea where the little umbrellas are?” he asked, squinting down at his own list.
And I tried not to notice that part of it was written in very loopy, feminine handwriting. Or the way that fact made jealousy unfurl and spread through my system.
“Little umbrellas?” I asked.
“You know, for drinks?” he asked.
“You want drink umbrellas?”
“Need,” he corrected. “Apparently, if I miss anything on this list, a girl named Gracie is going to be sad, and another one named Hope is going to whoop my ass.”
“You know, I almost don’t want to tell you, just so I can see that play out.”
“She wouldn’t be nice to me like you were,” he said.
“Nice?” I asked, choking on the word. “You thought I was being nice to you?”
I mean my hand hurt, I’d slapped him so hard.
“You know, my memory is a little foggy. Maybe I need to come back for another shot.”
“I thought your club frequented Chaz’s.”
“Traditions can be broken if given enough reason. You know what your bar needs? Food.”
“What kind of food?”
I mean… it was a bar.
“Appetizer shit. Onion blossoms, fries, loaded potato skins, mozzarella sticks…”
“With a menu like that, we might need to offer a free EKG with purchase,” I said. “I think Danny is working on food. But it’s a process. I’ll make sure to pass on your notes.”
“So, what are you doing Thursday night?” he asked.
“I’m w—“ I started to say until I realized, of course, that I wasn’t working. That the literal only day off I got all week was Thursday.
“You’re not, are you?” he asked, eyes bright.
Was going from psycho murderer to light and laid-back the reddest of red flags?
Sure.
But, damnit, my favorite color was red.
“No. But I’m not coming to some random woman’s party.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not invited.”
“I’m inviting you.”
“It’s not your party.”
“If you’d bring the umbrellas, all would be forgiven.”
Damn him.
He was charming.
Hot, charming, and homicidal.
If that wasn’t just my type…
“Listen, I’m just saying, there’s a party. It falls on your night off. I’ll be there. The door is open. You seem kinda tense, babe. You need to mellow out a bit,” he told me, pushing his cart away. But not before adding, in a deep, sexy little rumble near my ear, “I’m sure I can find a way to help you relax.”
And then he was gone.
Leaving me there in the goddamn cereal aisle.
Wet.
Needy.
And absolutely not going to show up at another fucking biker club, looking for another red flag of a man who promised me a good time.
But I did go back and grab the damn drink umbrellas just in case.
CHAPTER FOUR
Dezi
“Dezi, honey, come over here,” Billie called, stretching out her arms and motioning me toward her with her fingers. “Your aura is all off, buddy,” she added as I moved in her direction.