Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
“She can’t stay here,” I instantly fight yet again surprised to see him not budging.
“She can.” Kipp pushes his shoulders back. Tilts his chin higher. Adds unnecessary gruffness to his voice. “And she will.”
“You both know she can hear you, right?” Bunny needlessly reminds at the same time she leans her ass against the counter.
“Good to know those things on your head are used for more than just holding pens,” I state with a sarcastic grin.
The unwanted guest gives the writing utensil a faint touch like she’s completely forgotten it was there.
And who the fuck knows.
Maybe she had.
Maybe wearing pens behind her ear and in her hair and writing on random shit and her hands are her version of smoking or vaping or chewing gum.
Don’t know.
Don’t wanna know.
Don’t need to know.
And once she gets the fuck out of town, I really won’t need to care.
Kipp swings his stare in her direction and allows it to soften. “You can crash on our couch if you want.”
“I don’t want.” My second bite immediately resummons his glare to mine. “I don’t want a fucking houseguest, Kid.”
“Ten bucks says you’ve never even had a houseguest before.”
“You owe her ten bucks,” my best friend playfully pokes, tipping his head in Bunny’s direction.
“We didn’t bet!” The vibrating device in my hands indicates someone is now calling rather than texting which means I now have to choose between dealing with a paying customer or a potential problem that involves the creaky pullout no one has slept on since I first moved in back when Big K was still alive. “Fuckme…” Another frustrated headshake is all I deliver during my retreat to my truck. “One. Night. Kid.” Continuing to move towards my vehicle, I point a firm finger at her and assert, “You only get one night with us, Rabbit.”
And that one night?
Well, it’s already one night too many.
Chapter 6
Kipp
“Come on,” I push with my words while simultaneously pushing the shopping cart around The Grand Cannory. “Confessssssss.”
Bunny looks over at me with an unamused expression that only convinces me to keep talking.
Searching for any bit of actual truth I can get out of her.
Besides her age – thirty – and her real last name – Abernathy not Ripley – there isn’t much I know about her.
Pretty sure that’s exactly what she wants.
But it’s not what I want.
And despite the angry texts about inviting her over to have a slumber party, I know it’s not what Nolan wants either.
He wants her to talk.
So he can listen.
He’s always…listening.
Really. Listening.
It’s just one of those things he does best.
That I like best about him.
“Come on,” the gentle prodding proceeds. “It’s not like I’m asking you what color your underwear is.”
“You’re assuming I’m wearing underwear.”
My lips press firmly together to stop a moan from escaping.
Fuck, I was assuming she was wearing underwear.
Black.
Lacy.
Thong.
Low cut rather than high.
Now?
Now, I’ve got a new line of questioning plaguing my poor brain, that same poor brain that I get the feeling she loves to overheat.
She did it on and off all afternoon at the shop while working on her laptop.
Bunny kept claiming she had “butterfingers” with her pens – except the Mickey Mouse one she tends to keep in her hair – and that’s why they kept rolling away into “bend over in front of me” territory.
I’ve never hit my head so many times on the hood of one fucking car.
And you know, since I couldn’t let myself dream about the shit earlier – for fear of damaging a customer’s property – I think it’s time to.
What is her situation down there?
Trimmed?
Strip?
Bare?
My cock thumps eagerly against the zipper to my work pants with its hopeful answer, which honestly isn’t really needed at this point in time.
The chick determined to give me a stroke before I hit thirty flashes me what can only be described as a devilish smirk before bumping me out of the way to steer the cart. “Why do you care so much about the most expensive car I’ve ever sat in?”
“Idontknow.” I let my shoulders innocently bounce during our slow stroll around the small grocery store. “I just…I really like cars.”
“Why?”
“They’re fucking incredible.”
“What makes them so incredible?”
“Depends on the car.” Grabbing a box of Twinkies is followed by her putting in a second. “Sometimes it’s their performance as a whole like with certain Corvettes. Sometimes it’s just their top speed abilities like the Venom F5. Others it’s their acceleration like the Aston Martin Vantage or Nissan GT-R.” An impressed quirked eyebrow is shot in my direction prompting me to uncomfortably glance at the shelves I know we don’t need anything else from. “What?” Different sugary treats joining the pile briefly crosses my mind. “I told you I really like cars.”
“Didn’t realize exactly how fucking much.”
People rarely do.
And then when they do, they have a tendency to try to fuck me over with it.