Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Eyes hooded with curiosity, I take it and flip it over to see what he wrote. A number. His number.
“Call me, we can hang out.” He shrugs his left shoulder and I tense.
I want to, but my father would not let that happen without a full interrogation. Hell, he’ll probably have one of the guys from the club follow us.
“Yeah, my dad will kill you before we had a chance to hang out.” Forcing a smile to hide my embarrassment, I avoid eye contact and look around. I’m surprised my dad or one of my uncles hasn’t come over to interrupt me talking to a boy yet.
Thane reaches out and grabs the side of my face, the touch gentle and snuffing out sanity in seconds.
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” His left brow lifts, a mischievous smile grabbing me by the heart and making me want to dance with the risk.
“You’re trouble.” The corner of my mouth turns up, my eyes narrowing in deviously.
“Yeah, and I think you like it.” He squints from the sun splitting across his face and I swear my fucking heart just hit the sandy beach. I do like it, I like bad boys who want to break rules and have fun. “I’ll be waiting for that call, Delilah.”
Heading back to the club’s booth at the back of the beach, sand in my Chucks, I can’t wipe the fucking smile from my face. Slipping the number in my back pocket with my cell phone, I hold the bag with the shirt in it. I’ve never had someone buy me something before. I mean, not a guy anyway.
“What’d you buy?”
My head whips up finding my mom standing at our booth. The off-the-shoulder shirt shows her arm and collarbone blooming red from the hot sun, her arms crossed in front of her chest as she eyes me with smiling bright emerald green eyes.
“Um—I got a shirt.” I stumble on my words, caught off guard that she’d ask. I would tell her about Thane, but she tells Dad everything, and I don’t want to make a thing out of it when I don’t even know it’s going to become anything.
“Nice.” She steps up to me and begins preening and poking at me like I’m about to attend a beauty pageant. Brushing the hair out of my face, straightening my shirt, and grinning the whole time.
“Mom!” The bite in my tone is fierce but she keeps at it, this time rubbing her thumb under my eye as if my mascara might have run some. “Stop!” I quietly mutter but viciously, slapping her hands away from me.
“Sorry, your eyeliner was running.” She pulls away, her hands up in surrender. If anyone didn’t know me, they’d think I was twelve the way my parents hover over me; sheltering me.
Turning where I stand, I watch the people walk by. The different smells, faces, and biker groups. Just beyond that, the ocean. Inhaling a breath, I stare at the water, I’ve always been drawn to it. The mystery that lies in the depths of it, how far it goes without man’s control. I want to be like it, the waves. Gentle but fierce enough to move land. Placing my hands in my back pockets, the piece of paper rubs against my fingertips and I can’t help the smile on my face.
“Delilah, they’re about to auction the bike your uncle’s built. Will you go get your uncle Bobby from the beer garden?” Mom asks, pointing across a sea of vendors and people.
I remember passing them a little bit ago. Scanning the area, I search for the big blue and white tent that indicates Bud Light. You bring beer, and the bikers will follow. Making my way through the crowd, the smell of pot, laughter, and motorcycles ensnare the atmosphere.
Getting closer, I hear Bobby before I see him. He’s loud and laughing like a clown. He’s definitely drunk. Walking under the tent away from the sun, the shade takes the temperature down by several degrees. It feels nice. There are a lot of people standing around talking, but Bobby stands out from everyone else. He’s what a lot of people call a pretty boy.
He has flawless blond hair and a soft babyface. If he didn’t wear his leather cut displaying his club colors, you’d think he was here to surf. He’s standing in the corner with a beer in his hand, laughing loudly along with another one of my uncles, Lip. Uncle Lip looks mean with his sharp cheekbones, high eyebrows, and intense eyes. But there’s a beauty to behold behind the fierceness he possesses. Snaking through the big pot bellies, women with tight braids down their backs, I reach the corner and tap Bobby on the shoulder.
“Hey, Mom wants you guys to get the bike ready.”