Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 72154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
The mom in front of us turned around and glared.
My lips twitched.
Janie lowered her voice.
Barely.
“You almost poked him in the ass,” she whisper-yelled again.
I shrugged. “You know how I feel about holes.”
She shook her head.
“Y’all want something to drink?” Rafe asked.
I stood up. “I have to go to the bathroom. I’ll get the drink.”
Rafe shrugged, then handed me a twenty-dollar bill.
I took it, shoving it into the front pocket of my jeans.
“What do you want?”
“Beer, please,” he said. “Whatever they have on tap.”
I nodded.
“Hey, aren’t you going to ask me what I want?” Janie called to my back.
“I’ll get you whatever I want to get you, twat,” I told her over my shoulder.
Janie flipped me off, but she had a smile on her face.
I turned back around in time to see a few other members of our large group returning to their seats with their own drinks.
Instead of staying to chat, I rushed up the steps and nearly collided with the big man himself when I caught him at the top of the stairs.
“Oh, sorry,” I said when I ran straight into his back.
He caught me before I could start to topple over, but the only way to do that was to press my body to his.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I apologized. “I was looking down and not up.”
“No problem,” he said.
And only then did we both realize that his hand was on the curve of my ass.
He let me go.
I didn’t step back, though.
I couldn’t.
Mostly because there was someone directly behind me.
Apparently, the seventh inning stretch was a popular time to get up and move around. Who knew?
“I really have to go to the bathroom,” I blurted, trying to explain away why I would run straight into his back.
“Okay,” he said, seemingly uninterested.
“And Rafe wants a drink,” I said. “I’m going to get one of those eighteen-inch tall lemonades.”
“Those things cost like nine dollars,” he said. “If you get one of the regular size drinks, they give you a free refill.”
“But then I wouldn’t have the big cup,” I pointed out.
He shrugged, then took three more steps upward.
I followed suit but stayed on the step just below him so it wouldn’t seem like I was climbing onto his back.
I didn’t want to be that person.
“Bathroom is right there,” he pointed in the direction.
I didn’t really have to go to the bathroom. But now I kind of had to since I’d lied and said I did.
“Are you getting a drink?”
He nodded.
“Can I come cut in line with you once I’m done?” I asked, glancing at the long line for the concession stand.
“I guess.” He shrugged.
Grinning, I ran into the bathroom and came to a sudden halt when I saw the line.
I moaned.
Instead of using the restroom, I went to the counter and washed my hands.
If I waited in that line to release the miniscule amount of urine that I had in my bladder, I wouldn’t get to stand in line with Parker.
I removed a little imaginary lint from my shirt, touched up my Chapstick, and then high-tailed it back out of the bathroom.
I had no clue why I wanted to talk to the man.
He didn’t really seem like the kind of person to want to chat with me, but I was willing to do anything. There was something about him that called to me.
It was as if he didn’t actually belong…and I didn’t either. It was kind of nice to sense that same kind of person in another person. Like attracting like to like.
Or whatever.
I didn’t know what it was that was drawing me to him, but I wasn’t one to fight the pull.
So, I hurried up to his side and just stood there, not saying a word.
He looked down at me, then looked back up at the line.
He had his arms crossed across his chest, and my eyes were drawn to the ink I could see peeking out from the neckline of the t-shirt.
Just below the solid black line on his throat was the very tip of another tattoo.
I didn’t say a word, though, even though the questions were burning a hole through my tongue.
I nibbled on my lip and crept up in the line with him, not saying a word until he said, “You’re giving me the creeps.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You’re bouncing on your feet, and you keep looking at me like you want to ask me something. Just fucking spit it out already,” he ordered.
I opened my mouth and then closed it.
“What makes you think I want to talk to you? Maybe I want to talk to that man on your other side,” I pointed out.
He looked to the side, and we both studied the man there.
He was a goth who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else but where he was.
His hair was in a mohawk that stood up about a half a foot into the air, too.