Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Instead of going to the counter, he walked straight to Tate’s table and slid into the booth opposite him. Tate hated himself for the momentary flicker of nerves or the impulse to glance around and see who might be watching, but he resisted the urge and counted it a win.
“Well, hey there, handsome,” Liam said in a low voice. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Damn, Luxe, why you gotta go around town wearing those tight-as-fuck shirts. They might give the wrong kinda man some nasty ideas.”
He batted his eyelashes. “What? This old thang?” he drawled in an exaggerated Southern accent before bursting into giggles. “I’m between classes and just ran to grab some lunch. Dancing all day works up an appetite.”
“Eat up, Luxe. You’re gonna need some energy for tonight.” He winked.
“I sure do enjoy flirty Tate,” Liam said with a sly grin. “Glad he’s coming out to play more and more.”
The bell jangled again, and in strutted Randy, followed by Daryl. Tate couldn’t help how his spine snapped straight and his breath caught. Fight or flight tried to kick in, but he focused on Liam’s face instead of his internal freakout.
“I’ll go,” Liam said as he started to scoot out of the bench.
“No. Don’t. It’s okay.” He wanted to reach across the table and take Liam’s hand but hadn’t reached that level of bravery yet.
“You sure?” Liam cast a sideways glance at Dumb and Dumber making their way over.
He nodded as Randy approached with a raised eyebrow and sneer like he’d smelled something rotten. “So, what? You’re like buddies now?”
“Yeah, butt buddies,” Daryl said, snickering.
Tate narrowed his eyes, but Liam was quick as hell with the comebacks. He rolled his eyes and snorted. “Wow, Daryl, that was super original. You think of that insult all on your own, or did a second grader teach it to you?”
“Shut the fuck up, you little—”
“Enough, Daryl,” Tate barked. “And yes, Randy, we’re friends. Deal with it.”
The way Liam beamed made him feel ten feet tall.
“Shit, T, you don’t gotta take in every stray you meet. Sometimes they’re the kinda creature that’ll hump your leg if you’re not careful.”
“Randy, shut your fucking mouth.”
Liam sighed. “Look, Randy,” he said with all the arrogance of someone who knew how much they had to offer. “What if I promise to never ever, not even once, not even in jest… that means as a joke, in case you didn’t know…”
Tate snorted. God, this man made him horny as hell. The way he put Randy in his place made Tate want to dive across the table and kiss the hell out of him.
“What if I promise to never come close to hitting on you? Would that help you feel more comfortable around me?”
He shifted as though considering it.
“No,” Daryl mumbled. “Answer’s still no.”
“Here’s the thing, boys, I have a specific type of man I like to fuck.”
They both turned a little green.
“And I promise you what I want in my bed is not a small-minded, pot-bellied redneck. So, trust me when I tell you, you two are very safe from all my evil advances.” He wiggled his fingers as though casting a spell on them.
Randy and Daryl stood there, jaws on the floor like two gaping fly traps. It took everything in Tate not to reach out and take that kiss Liam was clearly begging for.
“Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I think I’ll wait for my food at the counter and leave you to belch and talk about tits or whatever it is you uber-masculine men do.” He winked at Tate, then climbed out of the booth with the grace of a prince and practically sashayed toward the counter.
Tate swiped a thumb across his lower lip to make sure he wasn’t drooling.
Eventually, Randy and Daryl scooped their jaws off the floor. Randy slid into the booth next to Tate while Daryl took the seat Liam vacated. “This shit is getting out of control,” Daryl grumbled.
“For fucking real,” Randy added with a disgusted grunt. “This guy’s got half the town eating out of his fucking hand. If we’re not careful, there’ll be more like ’im movin’ here.”
“So what the fuck do we do about it?” Daryl asked.
Tate rolled his eyes. “Hmm, considering it’s twenty-twenty-four and you two idiots don’t want to be arrested for a hate crime, not to mention you’re stupid as fuck, I say you learn to live with it.” He folded his arms across his chest and stared Daryl down with his most severe glare. The guy might flap his mouth like a runaway bull, but he didn’t have the stones to do shit, thank God.
Ducky, on the other hand. As though his thinking conjured the scumbag from thin air, the bell jangled, and in walked Swan’s most recent parolee. What the hell he had to swagger about, given he’d been in prison only a week before, Tate would never know, but he sauntered in like he owned the damn diner.