Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 136029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
“Yeah.” I glance over her shoulder, surveying the dance pit for Maximoff. I’m hoping he stayed in the makeshift VIP area, but that’d just be too easy.
“And you’re friends with Paul Donnelly, right?” she drones on. “Do you think you could maybe introduce me to him. I’m a huge fan of the Ass-Kicker.” Mention of Donnelly’s nickname from the Hot Santa Video barely draws my attention back to her.
I have places to be. “Paul?” I already sidestep past her. “Never heard of him.”
“What about Quinn?!” her friend yells at my back.
“Oh my God, please tell me you have Quinn’s number!” another girl screams as I leave.
I locate Maximoff. The six-foot-two, hot-as-sin American prince. He dances on the sandy floor with Luna, Kinney, and Xander. Bodyguards circle around them, the barrier intense enough that I know Maximoff is safe.
I start making my way to him.
“Hey, Farrow!” a temp bodyguard yells over the music and steps in front of me. Abruptly. I take a step back to avoid a collision into his chest.
I eye the dermal piercing on his cheek. Shit.
Owen Erickson.
Seeing him is like chugging spoiled milk. I’m just thankful Akara and Thatcher listened to my request. He hasn’t temped for Maximoff since I asked.
Tonight, he’s supposed to be watching over Sulli. Unsuccessfully, since he’s currently wolf-scout-blocking me.
“Move!” I hate having to scream over the fucking music, but the song has heavy bass.
Owen leans close to whisper in my ear. Too close, motherfucker. But I resist pushing him away in case this is about security.
“Do you know when I get my break?” he asks, his voice softer. Heat against my ear makes my skin crawl.
My face pinches in a grimace, and I rock back from him. “How the hell would I know?!” I yell over the bass. “Radio the boss or the Omega lead!” That’s what any temp would’ve done. Not hunt me down to ask this question.
I shoot him a glare because my gut says he’s hitting on me.
He can’t be that stupid.
Owen nods along to the beat of the music. “Yeah, okay!” He goes in to lean again for another whisper-chat. I’m not having it this time. Casually, I push him back with my forearm.
“Personal space!” I’m trying to be chill.
His eyes dip from my lips and then to my eyes. “When’s your break?!”
My brows jump. “You’re done, man! Get out of my face!” The scenario where he’s hitting on me and not Maximoff is easier to stomach. But it won’t be for Maximoff, and Captain America doesn’t need a broken knuckle tonight.
He shakes his head. “I’m just being friendly!”
“Be friendly somewhere else!” I move quickly, and part of me wants to shoulder check him as I pass. The other part would rather swig lighter fluid than touch him. The latter wins, and I give him a wide perimeter.
Maximoff has stopped dancing, confusion cinching his brows, and my boots sink in the sand as I come towards him.
He’s about to ask, but I beat him to it. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
He drops the topic fast, almost like the thought breezes out of his head. “Hey,” Maximoff greets, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. Pulling me into his body. His green eyes are a little glazed. “Where’ve you been all my life?” He seems a little out of it. Not himself.
Sweat beads up on his forehead, and I brush back some of the damp strands of hair. “You feeling okay, wolf scout?”
“Yeah, man.” He sways to the music, leading me with him. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Okay.
Something’s wrong.
“Yeah?” I ask.
“Mmmhmm.” He licks his lips, and his fingers slide up the back of my neck, threading through my bleach-white hair. “You’re pretty much the hottest person on Earth. All Earths, really. And I needed you tonight.”
I smell the faint scent of liquor on his breath.
Liquor.
He’s never had a sip of alcohol in his life.
It takes all my energy not to amplify the protect-mode to the highest dial, but I don’t want to freak him out. Casually, I reach down to his hand that hangs at his side, a glass of lemonade loose in his grip.
I’ve tasted one glass out of…I can’t say how many he’s downed. I wasn’t here to count, and this looks like a new cup because the dick straw swimming in melted ice is green. The cup I tasted, the one that was nonalcoholic, had a blue straw.
“Can I have a sip?” I ask.
He gives it over. “Thirsty? I just have that effect on you.”
“Yeah. You’re hot shit.” I keep a hand on his waist and put my lips to the rim. I take a swig.
I taste mostly lemonade, but I’ve had enough mixed drinks to detect the hint of vodka. Without hesitating, I finish off the rest of the drink.
I don’t want to tell him. It’s my first thought. But I can’t keep something like this from him, even if it’s going to tear him up.