Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Maverick looked confused. “Who the fuck is Columbo?”
“The TV detective. Jesus, where were you raised… fucking Mars?”
“Peach Grove, Georgia. So pretty close.” He chalked his pool cue and leaned down to take his shot. “So you gonna tell me who’s got your panties in a twist?”
Sure. I’ve got a hard-on for our president’s niece. You know, the girl we’ve all been warned to stay clear of? Yeah, well, I want to take her in my arms and kiss her until we’re both out of oxygen and dizzy with lust. I want to peel the clothes from her body and make love to her right through to dawn. I want to make her come. I want to make her scream my name. I want her to be mine and mine alone. So what did I do about it? I made her go out on a date with another guy, and now I’m here obsessing about it like a fucking psycho. No, worse. Like a fucking teenager.
I threw the pool cue onto the table when Maverick sank the black ball.
It was no use.
Tonight, was a nightmare. Nothing was going to stop me from thinking about Chastity.
“Want another game?” Maverick asked.
Just as Maverick began to rack up again, the door to the clubhouse opened and Cool Hand stumbled in with his wife Heidi and a couple of her girlfriends. Ready to party, the four of them made their way over to the bar and started doing tequila shots.
One of Heidi’s friends, a gorgeous blonde in a tight pink dress and legs for miles, kept glancing over her shoulder at me. I knew the look and could see the invitation in her eyes. After another couple of drinks, she walked over to me and offered to take my mind off things for the rest of the night.
She handed me a shot of tequila and licking her lips, came in for the kill.
CHASTITY
So in true tradition that was my dating life, the date sucked.
After a really uncomfortable yet thankfully brief encounter with Ruger back at the house, we took Bryce’s car to a Mexican restaurant in town. The drive was awkward and the conversation stilted. Bryce was normally a friendly guy, chatty and outgoing, but during the drive he was quiet and preoccupied. Like he wanted to be anywhere but in the car with me.
I chalked his behavior up to nerves until it carried on through dinner. He was distant. Fidgety. Almost strung out as he kept eyeing the front door.
Finally, when the waitress offered to bring us another drink and Bryce all but begged her for the check, I decided to confront him.
I waited for the waitress to leave before turning to him.
“Okay, enough is enough. What’s going on here? You’ve been asking me out for weeks, and now that we’re finally on a date, you’re acting like you’d rather get a root canal than be here with me. What happened?”
Surprised, Bryce took a swig of his drink. “It’s nothing. Really.”
“Sure. That’s why you look like you’re expecting an assassin to walk through those doors any minute now.”
He swallowed slowly, and it was while I watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down that it suddenly occurred to me.
Ruger.
My face darkened and my blood began to boil.
I fixed my eyes to his. “What the fuck did Ruger say to you?”
Bryce drained his drink and then ordered another before leaning his arms on the table and telling me exactly what happened.
Infuriated, I walked out of the restaurant and took a cab home.
I was pleased when I saw Ruger’s bike and truck in the driveway because it meant he was home, and I wanted nothing more than to tell him exactly what I thought of him and what he had said to Bryce.
This stupid little thing between us. Yeah. It ended now.
Stomping up the porch steps, I flung open the front door and stormed inside, surprising my annoying roomie who was sitting at the kitchen counter drinking a beer and flipping through a motorcycle magazine.
In that moment I hated him.
Truly hated him.
Because he looked so damn gorgeous and I could feel the overwhelming ache for him through the heat of my anger.
He paused his beer bottle mid-way to his lips when I started yelling.
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
He put his beer down. “What the hell?”
I stomped toward him. “Don’t you what the hell me, Ruger. Exactly what are you doing?”
“I have no idea what you’re—”
“Bryce! I’m talking about Bryce. First you tell me to go on a date with him. So, I do. But then you tell him to keep his hands to himself unless he wants a smack down.”
My blood was boiling. But it was nothing compared to the rage I felt when a small, sexy smirk hit Ruger’s lips.
He thought this was amusing.