Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 65225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
I squeezed her leg, which was exposed due to how she had to sit on the bike.
“Come on,” I grumbled. “Let’s get home.”
I didn’t want to move my hand on her leg.
In fact, I didn’t want to start the bike because that meant I’d stop feeling the rise and fall of her chest against my back. Stop hearing the quickness of her breaths.
“Hey, Easton?” she asked right before I started the bike up.
I paused with my hand on the brake as I said, “Yeah?”
“I’m not really all that drunk anymore.”
The way she said it had me thinking about it on the ride back home.
At least, for the first few seconds, anyway. Or when I wasn’t worried about what was behind me.
Needless to say, the drive home was a bit nerve-racking, because all I could think about was how easy it would be for Sareen to just speed up and plow into the back of us.
Not to mention, my fucking ribs were throbbing, and my head was hurting fairly badly due to the tension that I was feeling.
But it was the sweet way that Banger was wrapped around me that made me want to never end the trip.
Sadly, it did end, and we wound up in my driveway with Sareen driving past not even a couple of seconds later.
I shut the bike off when we were near the front door, a little closer than what I usually parked, and waited.
The sound of the heated engine ticking, as well as the sounds of the night, filled the air for a few long seconds before Banger said, “Do you know why I was named Banger?”
I got off the bike, then held out my hand for her to latch on to.
She did, slipping her hand into mine and getting a hell of a lot closer than she needed to when she finally got free of the bike.
“No,” I admitted, my heart starting to pound for a better reason than fear. “Why?”
“Literally, bang her,” Banger said. “That’s what I’m named after. Bang her. My mom thought it was hilarious. She’d met a guy that wasn’t my dad when she was pregnant with me. They got together, and the guy asked if he was going to ‘bang her’ when referring to me and where I was resting in her womb. Then it turned into something even raunchier with him actually banging her, as in my mom. And they had a drunk, drug-filled night with each other, and named me. Then she told my dad some frou-frou, touchy feely story about the name Banger, and how she’d always loved it. It was some family name, blah, blah, blah. And my dad agreed. It was only later, when I learned about my name, that my dad did, too. He was furious.”
I swallowed, pissed on her behalf. “How old were you?”
She started to undo my tie as she said, “Fifteen.”
My hands latched on to her hips as the words left my lips. “Your mom is a bitch.”
“My mom is a piece of work, yes,” she agreed. “But I chose to keep the name because it’s a big ‘fuck you’ to her.”
I squeezed her hips, letting her know that I liked that she had that attitude. However…
“Why are you telling me this now?” I wondered, my hands on her hips in the most respectable of ways.
But if I dipped my hand down just a hair…
“Because I want you to know that I’m stubborn,” she said. “And I’m proud.”
I tilted my head. “I know you are.”
“But I’m not too proud to beg,” she said. “When I want something really, really, really bad.”
I tilted my head, unsure where she was going with her words.
“What do you want really, really, really bad?” I asked. “I can get it for you. Are you…”
Before I could finish my thought, she answered me.
“You.”
I blinked at her, surprised by her words. “Me?”
It wasn’t that I was completely oblivious or anything.
I knew that I was an attractive guy.
I just never expected Banger to return any of my feelings.
I mean, I’d all but forced myself into her life. Knew all of her secrets. Was her only means of housing right now—because goddamn, was the stupid area we were living in a wreck with too high of a population, and not enough housing to house them all.
I never expected her to put herself into a position where she would take that step with me.
To reciprocate any of my feelings whatsoever, to be honest.
“That can’t be the best of ideas,” I found myself saying.
I hated being logical sometimes.
Hated being the bearer of bad news, too.
Because anytime I ever had to turn down Banger would be bad news.
“It may not be,” she agreed. “But I’ve just spent the majority of the week with you. Rode in my truck for hours with you, and learned everything there ever was to know about your likes and dislikes. Dreams and aspirations. Your business. You gave me everything that you found on me, and more. And then there was when you came home hurt. I never realized…” She hesitated. “I never realized that my feelings for you ran so deep. I’ve always been attracted to you, sure. But I’m damaged goods, and it’s hard for me to go from someone as ‘attractive’ and then to seeing someone as ‘dating material.’ And somehow in this past week, you’ve broken past that wall I’ve erected to keep myself safe.”