Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“Mind if I ask you a question?” Evan props a fist beneath his chin, studying me with sharp eyes.
“You just did.” I focus on filling the drink orders Tracy sent through the system.
“How about a personal question?”
“First Amendment protects your freedom to ask, as well as my freedom to tell you to fuck off.”
A smile cracks his face, his dark eyes glittering with interest. “Fuck, if I weren’t already committed—”
“I’d still be a straight guy.” I move the cocktails to a tray and slide it across the bar to Tracy.
“Thanks.” She blows me a kiss. “I’ll be back in a couple minutes to cover for you.” She tosses her black hair and saunters off, swaying her curvy hips.
I tapped that ass a few times, but I lost interest when the chase turned into her chasing me.
“Why are you working here?” Evan sips his whiskey.
“Why are you drinking here?”
“You won’t like my answer.” A vulnerable smile.
I concentrate on mixing drinks, keeping the aggravation out of my tone. “Didn’t you just say you were committed?”
I’d rather have a root canal than continue this conversation, but he needs to make his play so I can reject him and move on.
“Committed… Technically, yes.” He rubs his whiskered jaw. “I come here for the view.”
His gaze sweeps over me so quickly I almost miss it. Almost.
“Right.” I grip the edge of the counter and lean toward him. “Let me make this clear—”
“You have the wrong idea, man. Just hear me out.” He reclines against the back of the stool and drums his fingers on the armrest. “You could make so much more money than measly tips in a bar.”
I let out a humorless laugh. I already did the whole chase-my-dreams thing. Sank every penny and second of my life into it. Ten years of blood and sweat left me bankrupt, betrayed, and sick to my soul.
“I’m serious. Look at them.” Evan tilts his chin at the tables of women across the room. “They can’t keep their eyes off you. And the meek little mouse at the end of the bar? I’m pretty sure she soaked her panties the instant you looked at her. Not to mention the lady boner your boss is sporting beneath her skirt. Every woman in this place is breathlessly aware of you.”
I don’t like where he’s going with this. “If you’re suggesting that I whore myself…” My blood heats. “I’m fucking offended.”
Two stools down, the old man lifts his head, narrows beady eyes, and returns to his full pint.
“You’re an idiot if you don’t know how ridiculously good-looking you are.” Evan openly and leisurely peruses me from head to groin. “You could model.”
“Vanity’s a neurotic disorder.” I already have enough personality problems.
Why does he care anyway? I’m not used to this weird role reversal. Usually, the guy bellying up to the bar is asking me for advice, not giving it.
I move to the computer screen and print out his check. It’s time for Evan to go.
“How about stripping?” He smirks.
If he knew what I used to do for a living, he’d swallow his fucking tongue.
I slap the bill on the counter in front of him. “Have a good night.”
Moving to the other end of the bar, I focus on the brunette. “How’s the drink?”
With a timid smile, she nods stiffly, wrestling to maintain eye contact. Women like her, all delicate bones and bashful glances, tend to be hellcats in bed. My dick pulses at the thought of defiling her long and laboriously.
“Hurry back, Decker.” Tracy slides in behind me and covertly caresses my ass. “I have tables waiting.”
I knock her hand away. That’s the problem with boning women I have to see again. Once I let them touch, they never stop.
On my way to the back room, I wink at a table of gawking women. They blush and sigh, and their giggling whispers follow me down the hall. Maybe I should strip. Can’t seem to stop myself from flirting with uncharted territory. I love the hunt, but once I catch them and fuck them, I’m done. I blame it on the male sex drive and the primal need to spread my seed.
When I reach the office, I lean against the door frame and rest my fingers in the back pockets of my jeans. “What’s up?”
“Close the door.” Shelby glides around the desk, her expression a bit too eager for comfort.
“Close it yourself.” I give her a bored look.
“While your orneriness is unacceptable out on the floor…” She sidles up to me and reaches back to shut the door. “I’d love to rile up your temper between the sheets.”
I cringe at her proximity. She smells like all my drunken regrets. Good thing I’ve never been drunk enough to add her to that list.
“Not interested.” I brace an arm against the door above her head, preventing her from closing it. “What do you need?”