Kiss My Pucking Bass (Kings of Denver #3) Read Online Sheridan Anne

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Romance, Sports Tags Authors: Series: Kings of Denver Series by Sheridan Anne
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Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 86052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
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“My God, child. What the hell is going on?” the man demands, repeating his question.

Opening my eyes, I spare a moment to take him in. He’s a younger version of Santa Claus with white hair and a messy beard, looking at me with real, genuine concern that puts me at ease. “I’m sorry,” I begin to say through my ragged breaths. “I just . . . I didn’t have . . . there was a man . . . and he, he . . .” A big sob rips through me once again and the man stares at me blankly.

“Come on,” he finally says, walking over to the bar and pulling out a chair for me. I take a seat, watching as he makes his way behind the bar and pulls out a box of tissues. I greedily pull out a few and attempt to dry my drenched face.

Santa Claus grabs a shot glass and places it down on the bar before grabbing a bottle of vodka and filling it almost to the brim. He pushes it in front of me before snatching it right back. “Wait, are you twenty-one?” he asks, his gaze narrowed on me.

I don’t know why, but the question brings a smile to my face. “Yes,” I laugh before he pushes the shot glass back toward me, finally allowing me to drink it. It burns its way down my throat, and I try not to make a face. Vodka isn’t exactly my drink of choice, but after the night I’ve had, anything will do.

“Right,” Santa Claus says, pulling my attention back to him. “Start from the beginning.”

I’m not particularly proud to tell him my story, but it’s the least I can do for the man who’s just saved me from being raped on the sidewalk. “Well, it sounds childish, but I ran away from home tonight. I couldn’t stay there any longer. I just . . . it wasn’t safe for me anymore. My stepmother had gotten so fucked up on drugs and alcohol and just . . . passed out on the couch, and so I packed my shit and just left. It’s just my luck that it’s pissing down with rain right now.”

His gaze narrows, and I can see the questions forming in his mind, but he stays silent, allowing me to continue. “I walked for maybe three hours until I made it into the city and thought I could find a motel or something like that, but there’s nothing. So I stopped to rest on this little storefront that offered a bit of shelter from the storm, and that’s when this man just . . . appeared. I was so messed up about having to spend the night on the streets that I didn’t even see him come up to me, and I—” I cut myself off and take a breath. I’m certain that if I allow myself to, I would get carried away and start sobbing on his bar. “This guy was wasted, and I could see it in his eyes. I knew exactly what he wanted from me, and when he tried to grab me, I just . . . reacted. I nailed him in the junk and when he fell to the ground, I kicked him in the face, and I’m pretty sure I broke his nose, and I just . . . I ran, and now . . . now I’m here.”

“Pretty sure you broke his nose?”

“No, I know I did,” I admit with a cringe. “I heard a crunch.”

“Well, shit,” Santa Claus murmurs, grabbing my empty shot glass before refilling the little bastard. He passes it back as I nod in agreement, downing that shot too. “First of all. You’re a damn fool for leaving in the middle of the night during a storm without a ride or a place to stay. I’m also betting that you haven’t got any money. I’m not going to pretend like I know why you did it, but I’m sure you have your reasons,” he says, sounding like a disappointed father scolding a daughter.

I don’t know why, but the thought of disappointing this man does weird things to me. My head hangs, ashamed of how I’ve handled myself tonight. “Alright, darlin’, what’s your name?”

My eyes come back up to meet his. “I’m Charli.”

“Nice to meet you, Charli. I’m Micky, and this is my bar.”

I nod as I take the chance to have a quick look around and realize, even in the low lighting, that the place is pretty damn awesome. There are big tables in the back for large groups, little single tables for intimate dates, and a dance floor for the girls to shake their asses while their boyfriends drink beer and talk shit. The place looks well-worn and very loved, like it could be a popular hangout spot. “I like it,” I tell him honestly.


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