Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 30636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
I fucking know she isn’t, but something stops me.
“Are you good to drive?” I ask her. “There is a diner on the right. Can you drive into the parking lot so we can get out of the road?” I point at it. We can see it from where we are now.
“Yeah, I can make it.”
“Okay, follow me then.” I push up to a stand and close the door, then watch her put her glasses back in place before I return to my car.
I slowly drive the two-hundred feet and turn into the diner. I keep an eye on the mystery girl in my rearview mirror. For a second, I’m worried she won’t follow me into the parking lot and will take off instead. Then again, that might be what I need right now.
She pulls up beside me into a parking spot. I kill the engine and get out of the car, and so does she. We meet in front of her hood, where I take a moment to study her.
Now that we are standing, our size difference is really noticeable. She is short and skinny, wearing black leggings, old sneakers, and an oversized sweater that has a tiny hole on the collarbone. Her hair falls off her shoulders in messy brown locks. Her eyes are glassy from crying, and her plump lips are dry and chapped.
She looks like a mess, but a beautiful mess. She doesn’t wear a lick of makeup, which she wouldn’t need anyway. Her skin is smooth and flawless everywhere. She has high cheekbones, a cute button nose, and big eyes rimmed by black coal lashes.
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen.” She sniffles.
I raise my eyebrow at her. “Are you sure about that? You don’t look like eighteen.”
“I am, I promise.”
Well, that changes things. I rake my eyes over her tiny body once more, this time paying better attention to her tits and tiny waist. She would look good on stage… and her lips would look great wrapped around my cock.
A sob rips from her chest, reminding me that she is still a hot mess, and I don’t feel like dealing with some sobbing chick all day. I can just get her number and get to her later.
“Do you have anyone you can call to come and get you? Parents? A friend.”
She shakes her head and wraps her arms around herself as if she is physically trying to keep herself from falling apart.
I have the unreasonable urge to hug her, to pull her into my chest and tell her everything is going to be okay. Where the hell did that come from? I don’t hug people. I’m close to my five brothers, and I don’t even hug them. Shaking that foreign feeling away, I think about my next move.
“So an eighteen-year-old girl with no friends and family…” I say more to myself. She is beautiful as hell and looks very young. She has an innocence around her that would do great at the club. Really fucking great actually. Maybe it’ll be worth it after all.
“Do you want to go inside and grab something to eat?”
Her eyes flicker to the front door, and I can see the excitement twinkle in her eyes, but then she shakes her head again.
“Why not? I’ve eaten here before. It’s pretty good.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“I see. How about this one is on me?”
Her eyes shoot up at me as they widen in surprise, and her eyebrows raise. “I hit your car. Why would you invite me to eat?” she asks, and well, that’s a really good question. The problem is, there is no way I can give her an honest answer.
Because if she knew what I have in mind, she would be running away from me as fast as she could.
3
Hazel
I follow him into the diner even though I know I shouldn’t. People don’t do things without expecting something in return. I’ve learned that the hard way one too many times.
I’ve already cost him hundreds of dollars by hitting his car, and now he wants to buy me food? There is no way he is not going to ask me to do something for him.
On top of that, he doesn’t look like the kind of person who does things out of the goodness of his heart. His dark clothes cover most of his body, but tattoos peek out from the sleeves and decorate his neck. A skull is tattooed on his hand, and there are some letters inked on his knuckles. I don’t want to stare long enough to read what it says, but something tells me it’s not going to be anything sweet and innocent.
Still, I walk behind him and take a seat in a booth opposite him. I blame my irresponsible action on the immense hunger, and maybe because I’ve hit my head pretty hard.