Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Jonathan preened under that comment. God, why did I bring him here?
The only place I could take Jonathan that night was Velma’s—it was the only bar aside from The White Rabbit that didn’t ID, and I was not taking Jonathan to a strip club where I used to work. The twang of country music poured through the front doors of the shithole bar, the beat moving in time with blinking Christmas lights that stayed up year-round. Jonathan stopped at the bottom of the steps and touched a hand to his chest. “Oh, my God. It’s a honky-tonk!”
The door hadn’t had time to close behind us before he made a beeline for the bar, dragging me behind him. Velma stood behind the counter, a cigarette dangling from her lips and her bleach-blonde hair piled high on her head in a messy beehive. “What you want, sugar?”
He glanced at me with a smile, mouthing “sugar” on a laugh. “I’ll have an appletini, and…” he motioned to me.
“Just a beer.”
Velma’s gaze shifted from me to Jonathan. “We don’t serve no fancy drinks.”
Jonathan's lip curled in offense. “Fine. Martini?”
She half rolled her eyes before waddled off. I knew, for a fact, she was just gonna dump vodka in a glass and call it a Martini.
She popped open a beer and slid a plastic cup of vodka in front of Jonathan, dropping an olive in it with a splash.
“This is how you grew up?” He stared down into the drink. “This is messed up, Monroe. It’s like I’m in Deliverance. I mean, not that I’d mind if some hot guy in a wife-beater told me to squeal like a pig, but…” He took a sip, and his face immediately puckered up. “Velma! Honey.” He placed the cup on the bar. “It’s been a while since my gag reflex has been tested and that...” He pointed at the offending cup. “Just tested it.”
Velma chucked another olive into his cup, then ashed her cigarette on the floor before shuffling off.
I nearly choked on my beer at the look of horror on his face.
“Right,” he said. “Get me some good country music. If I’m drinking neat vodka, we’re dancing.”
I scooped up my beer and went to the jukebox, picking “Tennessee Whisky.”
An hour later, Jonathan had ordered three more of Velma’s “martinis.” He passed the cup to me. “It’s so nasty,” he choked. “Drink some.”
And yet he kept ordering them—and making me drink them with him. Now we were both drunk. I hung off his arm as I tipped the drink back, wincing at the burn.
He grabbed the empty cup and threw his arm in the air. “Another!” Then he plucked the olive from the bottom of the cup and shoved it in his mouth.
“Hey!” I swatted at his arm. “I want the olive. You had the last one.”
He grabbed my face, pressed his lips to mine, and rammed the olive between my lips. “There.” Then he waltzed off to the bar for more drinks.
My gaze swept over the people crammed in the tiny room, pausing on Wolf’s familiar form. My stomach clenched, tightening further when I saw Hendrix, then Bellamy—both ignoring me—and I knew he was there. I could feel his gaze on me long before I met the dark eyes that had run rampant in my dreams for nearly a year, torturing me. My heart squeezed, long dormant, and trying to wake while my lungs seized in my chest like they’d forgotten how to draw air. He lifted a drink to his lips, his gaze never straying from me. Until Jonathan came back and wrapped an arm around my waist, blocking my view.
“I see you, girl, eyeing up that tall drink of manly water.” Jonathan looked over his shoulder at Zepp. “Tattoos, muscle. Mmm. Bet he’s been to prison a few times. You know, prison always turns them.”
“He’s not gay.”
Jonathan slicked a hand through his hair. “Because I—”
“That’s Zepp,” I said, the buzz from the alcohol dissipating almost immediately.
Jonathan’s eyes went wide. “Oh. My. God.”
The walls felt like they were suddenly pressing in on me. Zepp was here, in the same room, and I couldn’t breathe properly. “I uh, I need to go.”
Jonathan chugged his drink before grabbing my hand and leading me through the maze of people, stopping in front of two girls blocking the doorway. “Excuse me. We’ve got an emergency situation here, and you need to move your unfortunate-looking asses out the way.”
He shoved through them, speed walking me to the middle of the parking lot before he stopped and pulled out his phone. “Oh, look. They do have Uber in the middle of Bumblefuck Nowhere.” The colored lights flashed off his face when he glanced up at me. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” No. I knew I would see him at some point. I just didn’t expect to feel like that. I’d pushed Zepp from my mind, fought my feelings for him every day, but it was so pointless. Because they were all right there, almost as fresh as the day he had broken my heart. That wound hadn’t healed at all. It was still festering away.