Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Since we arrived an hour ago, his gaze has been locked on me. No matter where I am in the bar, I feel the heat of it as if it were an actual physical caress. I’ve never been more attuned to another person in my life than I am to Ford Hamilton.
There’s something hot and needy that scratches beneath the surface of my skin, begging to be unleashed. Even now, I can taste him on my tongue. There was something so sexy about going down on him in the hallway when anyone could have turned the corner and stumbled upon us. The way it felt to be on my knees, staring up at him while I sucked him down my throat is enough to have my panties flooding with heat.
What I hate is the flare of jealousy when I meet his gaze and find all those girls touching him.
Talking to him.
Trying to convince him to take them home at the end of the night.
It’s tempting to stalk over and stake my claim. Instead, I remain rooted in place, refusing to do what every instinct is prodding.
It shouldn’t matter if every girl at Western flirts with the guy.
We’re not together.
We’re hooking up.
And once it gets stale, it’ll be over.
Those are the terms we agreed to.
I blink back to awareness when a loud cheer goes up and I realize that Sully, the owner of the bar, has lumbered onto the stage.
He spears a beefy finger toward the crowded tables of hockey players. “Our boys brought home another win tonight and you know what that means!”
“Karaoke!” everyone screams in unison.
“You got it!”
Already people are hustling to the stage. They’ve been waiting for the chance to sing their little hearts out all night. The first performance is by a trio of girls who shimmy their asses across the platform and do a whole lot of unnecessary twerking. Then a couple of younger hockey players do the same—minus the twerking. They have surprisingly good voices.
Color me impressed.
Ryder drags my girl up there and they belt out a duet.
‘Grenade’ by Bruno Mars.
They’re so barfy.
I love it.
Juliette deserves all the happiness in the world.
Is there a tiny part inside me that wishes I had someone who loved me just as fiercely?
Yup. I’ve been devouring romance novels since I was thirteen years old. Not only did I learn about love but sex as well. I’ve always held up those stories as shining examples of what a relationship should be.
When I fell for Ford senior year of high school, I’d believed I found it. Until my heart was crushed. And then I realized that’s all they were…
Stories.
Meant to entertain and pass the time.
They weren’t to be used as a measuring stick against real men who would almost certainly fall short every single time.
My gaze reluctantly flickers to Ford, only to find him watching me with a hungry look in his eyes. Even from across the crowded room, the heat sparking within them is almost enough to melt the panties off my body. It takes effort to stomp out the attraction attempting to leap to life inside me.
I’m afraid of what will happen if I allow it to go unchecked.
It’s like a fire that will singe me alive.
And I’ve been burned before.
I should know better.
Once the notes die away, Ryder yanks Juliette into his arms and kisses her in front of the crowd. The bar goes crazy with whistles and applause. Even her brother, Maverick, smiles reluctantly before shaking his head.
When my phone vibrates, I fish it out of my pocket.
Dare you to get up there and sing.
My gaze slices to Ford.
He arches a dark brow in silent challenge.
Two dares in one night?
The blow job wasn’t a dare. It was a deal. There’s a difference.
When my fingers hesitate over the miniature keyboard, another message pops up on the screen.
Don’t make me double dog dare you.
The corners of my lips lift as I consider my options.
What is it about a dare that I find so damn irresistible?
Or maybe it’s the sender.
Instead of responding, I tuck the phone back into my pocket and head for the stage, weaving my way through the thick press of bodies. When Darcy Erickson moves in the same direction, I cut her off, arriving at the stage first. She glares as I beeline for the computer. I’m halfway through the list when the perfect song appears.
A smile hovers at the edges of my lips as I bring the microphone an inch or so from my mouth. I’ve never been shy. I’ve been dancing for more than a decade. I’m used to being on stage for solos and having everyone’s attention focused on me.
But performing for a bar full of drunk college kids?
That’s not something I do on a regular basis.
For just a heartbeat, I close my eyes and suck in a deep breath, attempting to center myself. The first few beats float on the air. Unlike the array of songs that have already been played, this one hits different. There’s a distinct bass line and the melody is almost ominous.