Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Besides, Alaric said he is going to teach me how to shoot, so I can protect us when we go back too.”
I knew better than to tell her that I was a little off-put by her newfound love of guns. And, to be honest, the idea of having someone who had a gun and knew how to use it in the house was more comforting than I would have anticipated.
“You should learn too. Just in case I’m not home.”
I had a feeling that, for a while, if Triss wasn’t home, neither would I be.
Was that a pretty chickenshit mindset? Yes, absolutely. But unless or until the bikers figured out who’d tried to kill Donovan, then had, for some reason, come for us, I didn’t want to be a sitting duck.
I was no one’s hero. Not even my own.
“Maybe,” I said, knowing Triss knew me well enough to take that as a polite way of declining her suggestion.
“Alright, well, we are in agreement, then. No talkie about the fan site.”
“Yes,” I agreed.
“Okay. I am going to go back down. You coming?”
“Maybe in a few,” I said, even though my mind was already back on my story that I’d started earlier, getting a total of ten pages written, which was more than I’d done in weeks.
“Okey doke,” she said, giving me a distracted smile, her mind already on what kind of trouble she could get herself into at an outlaw biker club.
Taking my laptop bag, I went over toward the side of the room where there was a desk set up, looking out of the front window.
A part of me wondered if it was time to shut down the website.
I mean, I’d only ever started it on a kind of tipsy whim when my mind was swimming with visions of hot bikers, and all the fun ways their life stories could play out.
Then, I don’t know, it just sort of became a hobby, I guess.
Especially when I left a contact spot at the top, and some anonymous stories started rolling in about wild parties and certain bikers’ sexual prowess.
He eats pussy like a starving man, one of the stories had claimed.
Have you ever came so hard that your legs shook? It was like that. Five times in a row, another claimed.
After a while, it was easy to let the story of them kind of take on a life of their own. So much so that I’d maybe even lost touch with the fact that the characters they had become to me were actual, real-life, flesh-and-blood men.
Ones who were a floor below me, in fact.
Some of whom, I knew sexual stories about. In vivid detail.
In fact, the only members of the club who never had stories come in about them were McCoy and, well, Donovan. Though, of course, all the stories about the older members of the club were from before they settled down with their ladies.
I always figured that McCoy and Donovan were some of the more reserved members of the club, so maybe they didn’t sleep around quite as much, and therefore avoided the women who might be more of the gossiping type.
Suddenly, I was both pleased and disappointed by the lack of information on a certain neck-brace-wearing biker.
Pleased, because I sort of liked the idea that he wasn’t someone who slept around all willy-nilly. But disappointed because a part of me wanted to know that he was as good in bed as I had somehow built him up to be in just the one day since I’d met the man.
I mean, I could have fixated on any of the other guys.
Granted, most of the ones I’d met the night before were not single, and that would have squashed any attraction on my part. But it did leave Alaric, at least.
Then again, I’d always been more into dark-haired, bearded types, so I guess it made sense not to be wondering about him.
I was just getting into my story again when there was a soft tap at the door.
Triss would breeze right in.
So I jumped up, going toward the door, and pulling it open to find Donovan standing there, holding a stack of bedding in his arms.
“Oh, good. I wanted to catch you before you went to sleep.”
“Why are you carrying stuff around?” I asked, reaching to take it from him, careful not to brush his bandaged arms.
“The girls usually change out this room, and I don’t know if they did since the last time someone stayed in here. I just wanted to bring some fresh bedding up.”
“You should have made Triss,” I insisted, putting the pile down on top of the dresser.
“Triss is, ah…” he started, shaking his head a little.
“Oh, God. Please tell me she at least has her clothes still on.”
“Most of them, yeah,” he said. “She talked the guys into playing strip beer pong. So far, she’s kicking their asses.”