Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Sorry, she tells him. She’s here with someone.
Me. She’s here with me, the motherfucker who’s signing your paycheck tonight.
Davis steps back, and then she’s headed this way, closer and closer, until she’s smiling from the seat right across the bar.
She sets her glass down, so I take it, pour it out and serve her a fresh one, not once looking away.
She grins around her straw, and a second later, the girls are joining her.
For the first time all fucking night, we guys can breathe easy.
I might even have a drink.
Maybe if I do, I won’t be so tightly wound when I get home, and it’s just me and the girl my dick dreams about.
Maybe.
Chapter Twenty-One
Crew
Drew talked me into a drink and went for a second being Davis stuck to soda all night. It took us twice as long to get the bar in order after closing, considering my entire staff was buzzed, but it was a small price to pay to enjoy the bar to ourselves.
The girls passed out a couple hours ago, having dragged out our stash of blankets from the back and stuffed them in a clean booth, but we guys made it through sippin’ and bullshittin’ about nothing. Damn good way to end a long weekend, and thank fuck, the bar’s closed on Mondays and Tuesdays, when there’re no paid events on the books.
I’m sleeping all fucking day tomorrow.
“I say we head to the diner. Davis, wake up!” he shakes her. “Diner’s open all night, yeah?” Drew’s drunken grin is sloppy. “Who can’t do with some pancakes right now? Crew’s treat.”
I scoff, but for real. “I could eat some pancakes.”
“I can make bomb-ass pancakes.” Layla yawns, popping up.
“Yeah, but then we dirty our kitchen, when we can eat and not worry about the dishes.” Willie wraps her up, steering her toward the door. “To the diner!”
Laughing, we follow him out and to the restaurant.
Davis gets a little pep back in her tired steps once we arrive, and the sun’s peeking through the windows. She pulls out her work perks, and dashes to the back, sweet-talking the chef, I’m sure, and we’re overstuffed within an hour, our portions seemingly double the normal.
Six a.m. rolls around, and low and fucking behold, the black hat dude waltzes in with a crowd of clones.
Davis is standing at the counter, getting change for the tip and chatting with her boss, and the dude spots her immediately.
In my peripheral, my brother looks to me, but I don’t take my eyes off the guy, and moments later, he’s stepping up behind her.
Davis whips around with a chuckle, and the guy says something we can’t hear. This time, she doesn’t look at me when he reaches out and touches her. Sure, his palm is simply planted on her upper arm, but that’s too fucking much. She should know this.
Clearly, she doesn’t, because five seconds later, he steps into her more. Pair that with whatever he said, and her cheeks tint the tiniest bit of pink. A blush.
My blush.
He’s buzzed, coming off a night of partying and feeling brave. I’d bet on it. Guaran-fucking-tee it, when his hand finds her hip in his next move.
I don’t realize I’m headed their way until her wide eyes land on mine, and then so do his…a solo second before my fist comes down on his nose.
Blood pours on contact, and he stumbles backward, falling on his ass like a clumsy fucker.
Davis gasps, her hands flying to her mouth.
He shoots to his feet quicker than I expected, and his friends jump up too, rushing this way. Of course, mine make it first, and the lanky frat-looking fuckers freeze at the sight of four tatted-back built bastards.
“What the fuck, bro?!” the dude shouts, touching his nose.
He doesn’t step up, but I do. I push closer and closer, forcing him to look up to meet my eyes, the poor, shortish son of a bitch.
“Touch her again, I’ll break your fingers, one by fucking one. Got me?”
“Crew!” she shrieks.
The guy’s eyes narrow.
“Find a new fucking diner and a new girl to play with. This one’s mine.”
“Oh. My god.” Davis glares.
I’ll deal with her ass later.
Two men in one fucking night? What the fuck?
I’m about to lose my damn mind.
She makes me insane.
Always.
Fucking.
Has.
“Yeah, you and your box of Brads should go.” Drew puts his hands on his hips. “My brother’s known to fuck shit up, and by shit, I mean shitheads. Like you.”
“I concur.” Julius grins, leaning his elbow on Drew’s shoulder. “Been a minute since his fists have been set free, and I think he’s itchin’. Don’t be the scratch.”
The guys stand there, unsure of what move to make.
“Oh, Jesus H. Christ, get the fuck out already!” Layla’s no-bullshit shout gets them moving.
Moaning and groaning and holding on to their last bit of pride, the Frat Row fuckheads walk out the door.