Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Samantha giggles at Syd’s offer but is quickly distracted by the cinnamon roll in front of her. Digging in with a fork, she moans as the pastry hits her tongue. “Jaxx introduced me to this place and this monstrosity of amazingness. It’s one of my favorites. Here, try it.”
She cuts another bite and holds the fork out to feed me. It’s oddly intimate, especially considering all the other things we’ve done to and with each other, but I lean forward and take the offered bite.
She’s looking at me expectantly, so I tell her exactly what I’m thinking. “Delicious.”
I’m not only talking about the pastry, which is light, fluffy, and filled with layers of ooey-gooey, buttery goodness. It also has more cinnamon flavor than I expected, which keeps it from being too sweet, but all that aside, I’m talking about her.
Samantha takes another bite for herself, grinning at my flirting. “You said there was an incident involving me?” she reminds me as she digs in with abandon, keeping every bit for herself now.
I’m honestly distracted by the gusto with which she eats the cinnamon roll. It’s sexy how much she enjoys it, her moans and smacks musical, her lips wrapping around the fork to get every drop of white icing.
“Uh, yeah. One of the guys was . . .” How do I explain what the hell Anthony was doing? “Imitating a bull, wearing a suction-cup dildo on his forehead,” I say quietly.
Samantha chokes a little but coughs to clear her throat. Looking at me in confusion, she repeats, “Dildo bull?” When I nod, she follows up with, “Were the other guys riding him?”
I laugh at the image that brings to mind. “No, picture more like Spanish bullfighting. But the toy, I think it was yours. Did something happen at a party today?”
I want to hear her side of what happened because while I’m already furious at Anthony’s version, I’m afraid her truth will be even worse.
Her eyes narrow instantly as she glares at me. “Yes. What did you hear?”
I lean back, folding my hands on my knee to try and maintain some self control and calm of the situation. “Just that a group of guys hassled you pretty badly?” She nods slowly, and I continue, “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“More like furious,” she corrects. “Those assholes stole our merchandise after doing some immature impersonation of After School Special bullies, leaving a mess of our products all over the whole room and making Jaxx and me look bad.”
Her response to Anthony’s behavior is absolutely warranted and completely justified. I kinda wish she had made contact with his balls to teach him a lesson.
“They’re club members,” I admit, holding my head high though I’m ashamed of their behavior and how it reflects on our entire community. One I’m trying to build based on integrity, leadership, and self-awareness. They failed spectacularly in that, but I won’t shrink away from taking some ownership of my guys’ behavior. If I allow myself to be proud when they succeed, I have to feel equally responsible when they do something incredibly stupid.
Gesturing with the fork and nearly slinging cinnamon roll bits around, she snaps, “Are you serious?”
“Unfortunately, yes, and I'm so sorry for what they've done. I had no idea about any of it, but apparently, they thought they were ‘avenging’ the club after the interruption at the hotel.”
“Not exactly an eye for an eye, was it?” Her voice is hard, accusing me as if I’m the one who did this to her. “I accidentally fell into your stupid club meeting and embarrassed the fuck out of myself. Those douche canoes thought they were better than me, better than any of the women. Calling us sluts and whores, making jokes about half the fucking population like they’re prize stallions. Trust me, they’re not.”
She’s ranting as much as I was earlier, the words pouring forth coated in acid. I understand her anger, but something in what she says stops me short.
Quietly, I remind her, “I called you that too.”
Should I apologize? She’s lumping me in with Anthony and his group’s actions, so it feels like I should.
She rolls her eyes harshly before glaring at me. “That’s completely different. And if you don’t see that, we’ve got bigger issues than some immature bros who need a life lesson shoved up their ass, dry and without prep.”
Ouch. That’d be one rough lesson.
Actually . . . wait . . .
“You’re right about our being different. But I don’t want to hurt you—physically, mentally, or emotionally, and I think I’ve been quite clear that you bring out something in me that I didn’t know was there, so I want our communication to be fully open, always.” She nods, agreeing with me. “I want to talk about Anthony some more, though.”
She huffs but makes a ‘go on’ gesture, rolling her hand.