Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
“Any kind of help you need. Finding a good place, moving in, money for a security deposit.”
I’m surprised by this, especially his offer of money, but I try not to show it. “I think I have enough money saved, and my brother is going to give me some money since he’s the one who inherited our mom’s house. He doesn’t want to sell it, so he’s going to give me money for the part of it that would have been mine.”
“That should be plenty of money for an apartment,” Hutch asks. “Why do you need to work two jobs?”
“He can’t afford to give me a big lump sum all at once, not until he grows his business, so he’s going to give me money little by little.”
Hutch nods, considering. He seems to have a strong caretaker instinct, and being on the receiving end of his concern makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
27
ROSE
My shoulders fall when I see Mr. Broderick walking into the coffee shop. I used to love working here, but lately I’m just counting the hours until my shift is over, mostly so that I can rush over to the men’s house and spend a little time with them before I have to go into Club Red.
“Can I get your usual for you?” I ask the older man as he approaches the counter.
“I don’t know. Can you?” he replies, giving me far too much sass. “Small decaf, black.”
I let out a sigh as I pour his coffee, hoping I’ll get the level of liquid just right for him, even though I know that’s impossible.
“Is it fresh?” he calls after me.
“Yes, sir,” I say, putting on a smile and turning to respond. “I brewed it less than ten minutes ago.”
To this, he just humphs.
“Decaf?” he asks when I set the cup in front of him. He doesn’t comment on how much I filled the cup; it must be my lucky day.
“Decaf,” I confirm. “That will be two fifteen with tax, please.” When he pays me, I count out his change with a smile on my face, even though I feel like it’s wearing thin.
After I thank him, he frowns and turns away.
“How’s Mr. Broderick today?” Nancy asks, appearing at my side, back from her break.
“He’s his usual cheery self.”
My sister-in-law-to-be laughs and gives me a sympathetic smile before going over to check the tablet. “No more delivery orders?” she asks.
I shake my head and try not to think about the tattoo artists, even though I know that’s impossible.
“It’s odd that the Brothers in Ink place hasn’t ordered lately. They were ordering every day at first, and then they just stopped,” she says as she scrolls through the order history.
I know that their ordering has stopped because they see me at their house almost every evening instead, but I keep that information to myself, of course.
“I wonder if they had any complaints,” Nancy says. “Did they give you any feedback?”
I hope I sound nonchalant when I tell her they haven’t. They have given me plenty of personal feedback: I love your hair up like that. You have such soft lips. You look great when you take off your clothes, and even better when you spread your legs.
This leads me to thinking about the commands they give me in the bedroom, and I hope Nancy doesn’t notice the blush that heats my cheeks.
Weeks pass by, filled with both work and stolen visits with the four men every chance I get. We have a lot of sex—a lot—but we also do fun things together with our clothes on.
We’ve taken more walks on the beach, dipping our toes in the surf when the sun is shining. Christian gave me a sketchpad of my own and talked me out of my doubts when I said I couldn’t draw. He’s very encouraging, even though my sketches look like children’s drawings, especially compared to his.
After my nonstop compliments about their cooking, Hutch and Christian invited me into the kitchen and taught me how to make a couple of their specialties. Mace has taken me for more bike rides, and so has Zipper, who seems much more at peace when he’s out for a ride in the fresh air.
The days seem to pass by so quickly, but the hours I’m not with them go much too slowly.
Right now, I’m counting down my time at Club Red, even though my shift’s only just started, and wishing I was at the men’s house instead. Not for the first time, I consider going over to see them when I get off work, but Patrick would be too worried about my whereabouts.
On her way into the showroom, Callie stops by my desk. “Hi!”
“Hi, how are you? Are you running late?” I tease, looking at my watch. She’s arrived late several times, but apparently she’s so quick and efficient at delivering trays full of drinks that she doesn’t get in trouble.