Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
“Do you want a drink?” he asks. I check back at the club and think about my perfectly clean bar. “Not here, there’s a place down the road where El used to work, it’s quiet and nice.”
“Sure.” I reach into my car and pull a sweater out, slide it on, and reach for my purse. He starts walking, and I follow, coming into step next to him. “Is this normal?”
He doesn’t turn, just keeps staring ahead. “Is what normal?”
“Do you take girls who work for you out to drinks all the time?”
He laughs. “No. No fucking way. That’s a major no.”
“So, why did you invite me?”
He regards me with his eyes for moment, then they glance back to the footpath we’re walking on. “You seem to be an exception.”
I like that answer.
I like him.
I know I do even if he’s cold and uninviting. He seems… troubled, hurt, unsure. And each problem I notice I want to help fix for him. But I can’t, I know that. I need to sort out my own life before I can even begin to help anyone else.
He pulls on the door, holding it open for me to enter. When we walk in, he nods his head to a seat, and I go to sit there while he walks to the bar to order, then makes his way back over to me.
“Vodka, right?” I nod my head, and he sips whatever it is he’s drinking.
“This isn’t awkward.” I laugh sipping my own.
“Is it?” he asks finishing off his own drink. He stands, and at first I think he’s going to go back to the bar, but he walks right in front of me, taking the drink from my hand and placing it on the table between us. Then when my eyes go back to him, his finger is lifting my jaw, his mouth coming closer to mine as he leans down. I feel the tickle of his lips as they barely touch mine. I take in a ragged breath, and all I do is breathe him in, and that’s a damn big mistake because he smells really good. So good that I lift myself just a fraction so we’re closer, so I can taste him too.
I lick my lips, and he watches the action still so very close but not touching me anymore. I caress my lips on his while I still sit in my seat and he leans down over me. He doesn’t pull away, simply lets me kiss him. My hands reach up to touch his face, to feel his slight stubble, then he opens, and he kisses me back for a fraction of a second. And fuck if he doesn’t feel good. The way he tastes to the touch of his lips. I’ve never been kissed by someone like that. It feels odd but in all the right places. He pulls away fast. Going back to his seat, leaving me on the edge of mine. I open my eyes to see he’s assessing me. There’s a new drink in his hand and a new drink on the table for me also.
“You kissed me,” I say touching my lips.
“You kissed me,” he retorts.
Truth. We both did. I liked it.
“I want to do it again,” I say smiling while lifting my drink to my lips. I gaze over the brim of my glass to see his reaction.
He’s smirking at me. “That I can do,” he finally says.
I nod my head. “Good. I would’ve taken it anyway knowing what you taste like now,” I tell him truthfully.
“What I taste like?” he says more to himself. “It’s what you taste like that interests me.” And I don’t think he’s talking about the same thing I am because he smirks.
“So, why aren’t you at home? Why are you here?” I finally ask. I don’t want to mention his son, as that’s none of my business, and if he feels the need to tell me he will.
“My father’s arriving tomorrow, I need liquid courage.”
“You want to be drunk when he comes?” I ask laughing. “I feel like we may have the same type of father.”
He shakes his head. “No. I just need to prepare myself for him.”
“Is he like you?” I ask.
He shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe. I don’t really know anymore.” His words confuse me. “Creed’s mother did most of my raising, plus the school I attended helped with my upbringing.”
I nod my head. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about, I was raised well. My father, despite his flaws, he thought he was doing what was best for me. He didn’t know better.”
“And your mom?” I ask.
He waves his hand in the air, and just like that another drink is placed before us.
“She died when I was four.”
“That sucks.”
His eyes shoot to me, the perfect chocolate eyes stay glued to me. “It does.”