Total pages in book: 212
Estimated words: 207966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1040(@200wpm)___ 832(@250wpm)___ 693(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1040(@200wpm)___ 832(@250wpm)___ 693(@300wpm)
Not sure she realizes the significance of that. She’s not your typical biker broad so probably doesn’t realize that though some men don’t give a shit who’s on their sissy bar, others save it as an honor for the woman they claim. Spencer gives a shit who is on the back of his bike. Like I’ve decided I do. Never had a sissy bar on my old hog before I went to prison, telling my mother to sell it and forward me the cash for the commissary. And my new Harley has room for a passenger, but there hasn’t been one yet.
As for Bront, if Deacon and I hadn’t stopped him when we did, there wouldn’t have been anything left of that dickhead he took his fists to.
Pippa is a stunner, out of Bronto’s league, but she’s the kind of sweet that he probably mistook, thinking she’d give him a shot.
While Spence got in there quick, I would’ve given it more time after her nightmare with her ex, who beat her up. I said as much to Spence when he asked me my opinion about goin’ for it. But though he asked what I thought, he’d already made up his mind. He wasn’t about to take a chance of missing out, said he’s had his eye on her since he got to town last year.
***
I dragged a chair by the window overlooking the parking lot and scrolled through the apps on Gianna Jones’ phone some more. It was technically Bront’s watch but I told him to grab some sleep, saying I’d keep an eye on things for a few hours.
I looked at her settings, her apps, her pictures. Either she hasn’t had the phone long or… she cleaned it out before she got here.
***
“Yo,” is how I greeted the sleeping blonde in my bed at noon, irritated at seeing her under my comforter. Should’ve told her not to get under it.
She didn’t budge, so I repeated myself, mouth right next to her face.
“Yo!”
Nothing.
***
I went back in at one thirty. Still out.
“Woman, wake up.”
Nothing. Fuck sakes. This chick was gonna be a thorn in my cock.
***
A little after two thirty, I went back in and yanked the comforter off her, figuring it’d do the trick. Not only did it not do the trick, also got myself an eyeful as she’d dropped her leather pants and was sleeping in her crop top and purple thong. I ground my teeth at the sight of what might have been the sweetest ass I’ve ever laid eyes on. And given the fact my mother manages a titty bar, one I’ve spent a fair bit of time bouncing in, I’ve seen more than my share of sweet asses.
I threw the covers back on her and left again. This chick might need to be cuffed to my bed tonight, and not for fun reasons, either.
***
I spent my day irked. At her for being in my sheets and at myself because all this meant I was breaking a rule of mine. Like I wasn’t planning to put a woman on the back of my bike unless she meant something to me, I felt the same about letting chicks into my sheets.
I reminded myself this wasn’t the same as letting someone lead me around by my dick. I reminded myself I was doing this for the club. Still, I was irritated, spitting nails all day.
Kicking my boots off and hanging my brotherhood cut on the back of the door, my eyes landed on her. On the halo of blonde fanned across the pillows. I couldn’t help but let my eyes wander over the perky tits, the bee-stung mouth, the faint chin cleft.
The day wasn’t a tough one despite my mood as Deke shut the businesses down for Good Friday and with the clubhouse empty and not much to do other than patrol, it meant a lot of kicking back. I spent a chunk of the day re-reading my old Cannery Row paperback. I’ve had it so long and read it so many times, sections were falling out of the binding. Now that I’d gotten down to the last couple chapters, it was time to deal with this bunny situation for the night so I could get some shuteye sometime soon.
When she didn’t budge after I intentionally closed the door hard, I cussed and actually slammed the door. If not for the color in her cheeks and the rise and fall of her chest, I’d check for a pulse. Was she sleeping off a bender? She didn’t seem out of it when she got here.
I lifted the curtain of blonde hair off the pillow on the right side of the bed and flicked it at her before I stretched out beside her to finish my book.
It took twice as long to read as usual because I was acutely aware of the blonde sleeping in my bed, barely three inches separating us.