Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 119092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
“Glad you figured that out,” he said. “Life’s easier when you have help, like it or not. I’ll dig something out for you. Suitcase?”
“That’s okay—” I started, but he’d already turned and grabbed the bag, flopping it on the now-naked bed to unzip it. I swallowed as he began digging around. Not that I had anything to hide, but I didn’t like him touching my things. Way too intimate.
“Nice,” Ruger said, turning back toward me, dangling a black, lacy push-up bra from one finger. The side of his mouth twitched and those dark eyes warmed. “You should wear this one.”
“Put it down, Ruger,” I told him. “Just go outside. I’ll find what I need.”
“I like these ones, too,” he said, pulling out a pair of turquoise panties. “They’d go good with the garter belt.”
I bit back a groan. I might have a thing for pretty underwear, but I didn’t need his input. Jerk. I checked my towel, making sure it was securely tucked in. Then I walked out of the bathroom, determined to get his hands off my panties.
“Just put them down,” I repeated as I moved across the floor. He turned toward me, eyes sweeping over my figure and pausing on my breasts. I felt exposed and uncomfortable, which was silly. The towel covered more than most swimsuits. He had a hungry gleam in his eye, though—one I refused to take as a compliment. We’d already established that Ruger found me attractive on a basic, biological level.
Problem was, Ruger found every woman attractive on a basic, biological level.
I really didn’t like this new dynamic between us. Things were more comfortable when Ruger treated me like a piece of unwanted furniture.
“But I like them,” he said, examining the soft fabric with a smirk. I grabbed for the panties but he held them out of my reach.
“I just got done convincing myself I’ve been unfair to you,” I told him, narrowing my eyes. “Don’t ruin it.”
Ruger didn’t say anything for several seconds. Then he stretched the panties between his hands like a rubber band and shot them at my face. I lurched to grab the silky blue missile. That’s when the towel slipped and I flashed enough of myself to earn a damned fine collection of Mardi Gras beads.
“Nice rack,” Ruger told me. “Checked out the rest of you before, but never those. Usually the other way around, now that I think of it. Tits before—”
“Jesus, you’re a pig,” I said, cutting him off as I jerked up the towel.
“I’ll concede the point,” he said, shrugging and stepping away from the suitcase. “But only if you wear that black bra. I liked the girls. They deserve something nice.”
“Asshole,” I muttered, pissy mood back in full force.
I dug through my bag, pulling out a pair of ratty cutoffs. Then I spotted the super tight, super low-cut “Barbie Is a Slut” tank top my friend Carrie got me two years ago for Halloween, when we stayed with her folks in Olympia. We’d taken Noah out trick-or-treating wearing friendly witch costumes early in the evening. Then we tucked him safely in bed at her mom’s place and took ourselves out trick-or-drinking. I made out with three different guys at three different parties … using three different names. We finished by eating our weight in chocolate chip pancakes at IHOP as the sun rose.
Best. Night. Ever.
I pulled the tank out with a smile. Ruger wanted to treat me like one of his sluts? I could go there. I’d let him perv on my boobs. All day. Publicly. Maybe I’d flirt a little, too, but not with him. Nope, he could just suck it while I flashed the world. That would teach him to play with my panties.
I hoped his balls turned so blue they froze.
I ignored him as I took the shorts, tank, bra, and panties back to the bathroom and got dressed. I dried my hair and put on full war paint. Then I stepped out to find Horse and Noah were back.
“Hey, Mom—Horse has a dog named Ariel. Can we get a dog, too?” Noah asked the instant he saw me.
“I don’t think so,” I replied. “A dog’s a lot of work. We should start smaller. Maybe a hamster. Let’s ask Uncle Ruger if that’s okay or if he thinks it’s too much.”
I smiled at Ruger, whose eyes were glued to my chest. I adjusted my tank, pulling it down just enough to expose the top of the bra he’d requested.
He wanted to break our rules and bully me?
No problem. I was a big girl now, and I could fight back.
“So what do you think, Uncle Ruger?” I asked sweetly. “Is it too much?”
CHAPTER THREE
Despite his earlier breakfast, Noah had no trouble polishing off a full plate of pancakes, two slices of bacon, and a glass of orange juice.