Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 116028 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116028 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Even Fitzy’s? a voice taunts.
I try to swallow my jealousy. I do not like the idea of Fitz getting hard for Brenna, no matter how incredible her boobs look in that bralette.
But a quick glance across the booth at Fitz reveals a harsh expression and sneer of distaste as he eyes the polo-shirt guy, who’s now creeping toward his girlfriend. Fitz’s big hands aren’t quite fists, but they’re curled on the tabletop. He’s on guard and not liking this escalating situation.
“Hey, sweetheart?” Brenna says to the blonde. “Your man is a fuckboy with a capital F. Drop him now before he hurts you worse.”
“Did you just call Davey a fuckboy!” is the outraged response. “You’d be lucky to have someone like him! If he tried to get with you, and you said no, then you’re a stupid bitch.”
Brenna’s brown eyes twinkle. “First you’re mad because you think I tried to steal him from you. Now you’re pissed because I turned him down. Pick one injustice and commit, sweetie.”
I can’t help but laugh. The blonde glares daggers at me.
“But if you want, I’d be happy to bang him,” Brenna offers. “His technique was wicked clumsy when he tried to grab my breast. I could probably teach him a few things.”
“Slut,” the girl spits out.
“Right. I’m the slut, not him.”
“You wouldn’t know a good man if he walked up and smacked you in the face.”
“Neither would you, apparently.”
Hunter chuckles.
The girl’s face is so red, I almost feel bad for her. Almost.
“Stupid slut!”
Just like that, I officially reach the maximum amount of slut I’m willing to hear.
I shoot to my feet. “Enough with this slut bullshit,” I snap at her. “Do you realize how many decades you set us back every time you call another girl a slut? We’ve spent years fighting to not be viewed as sexual objects or be judged and shamed if we happen to enjoy sex. It’s bad enough that men still do this to us. When you do it too, it sends the message that it’s fair game for women to be treated this way.”
“Shut up,” is her comeback. “You’re a slut too!”
I cross my arms tight to my chest. “Say that again. I dare you.”
She flashes a smug smile. “You’re. A. Slut.”
I might have let it go. I really might’ve. If she hadn’t stepped forward and flicked her razor fingernails against my cheek in a mocking, dismissive gesture that turns my vision into a haze of red.
I launch myself at her.
“Catfight!” Hollis yells, jumping out of the booth.
I’m too busy tackling the blonde to chastise Hollis for the enjoyment he’s receiving from this. Straddling her, I get one good punch in before her own fist flies out and connects with the corner of my mouth. I taste a burst of copper on my bottom lip, lick it away, and grab a hunk of her hair. She wails when I give it a sharp pull.
“What the hell happened to girl power? Did you never listen to the Spice Girls?” I growl in her face. “What’s wrong with you?”
She slaps at me with her taloned hands. “Get off me!”
Her wish is granted, because suddenly I’m being heaved off her body. Strong arms wrap around my waist to keep me away from her. She jumps to her feet and pounces again. “You broke my nail!” she screeches at me.
Davey grabs her and tugs her backward. She clings to his arm as if it’s the last remaining lifeboat on the Titanic.
I frown at the sight. “Your loser boyfriend tried to grab another girl’s boob—how is that not what you’re mad about?”
Holding his girlfriend protectively, Davey announces to the world that he’s a dumbass by picking this exact moment to join the conversation.
Because only a dumbass would point at Brenna and say, “Look at what she’s wearing! She was asking for it!”
Oh no he di’int.
I lunge forward again, but those big arms lock tighter around me. They belong to Hunter, I realize. But even if I’d been able to charge, I’m nowhere near as fast as Fitz. One second he’s seated, the next he’s got Douchebag Davey by the collar.
“She was asking for it?” Fitzy hisses. “Did those words really just come out of your filthy, rapist mouth?”
Davey gasps for air. “I didn’t mean it like that—”
Fitz slams the frat boy against the brick wall next to the booth. I swear I feel the entire room shake. Malone’s has framed sports memorabilia hanging on the walls, and several photographs of hockey players I don’t recognize crash to the beer-stained floor. I hear the crunching of glass beneath Fitz’s Timberlands as he shifts his feet.
A server comes flying over, but she’s a tiny woman and no match for a six-two, enraged Colin Fitzgerald. His dark eyes spit fire as he literally dangles Davey a foot off the ground with one hand around the guy’s neck.