Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 141810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 709(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 709(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
Good thing he adored his old lady.
Still, Max wasn’t happy about transferring to George Mason to finish his art degree, but at least it gave him a reason to not live full time at home. The rush-hour commute would be way too long. It’d make much more sense to live in off-campus student housing. The apartment, as it were, he was presently standing in, located a nice long way from his old neighborhood. Away from all things Kevin. Anything that could possibly remind him. It’d taken a long time to get that fucker out of his system, and he’d really like to keep it that way.
His mom wouldn’t be thrilled with his living arrangements, but Max knew she’d ultimately understand. She’d always been good at reading between the lines. Besides, he was too old to live at home. Needed to maintain his own space. And the place he’d scored was pretty nice. As nice as a two-bedroom studio could be. But it was close to school and stores and shit, and not too far from all the popular bars. Of course, just down the highway, there was the nation’s capital, too, as well as its sidekick, Georgetown. Both were famous for their stellar night life. Ironically, they were notorious for it, too.
Max glanced at his watch. Time to go. Mom would be waiting for him at the hospital, and she definitely “didn’t like to be kept waiting.” Immediately Bellatrix/Hermione Granger sprang to mind, causing Max to almost smile. But the urge came and went in the span of one heartbeat as he grabbed his keys and headed for the door.
The time to smile would come soon enough. Specifically, when his mom got a load of his ink. He’d been saving up forever and finally gotten some, although only those on his arms would be visible. And those were pretty tame. Just a tribal weave in the form of sleek, black bands wrapping around the top of each bicep. His other tat, the one hidden beneath his clothing, that one was a bit more… artistic.
But who knew, maybe his piercings would end up as the biggest shocker. The newest ones, though, not his nipple rings. There was no need to show her those. Max locked up his apartment and made his way out to his truck. Which ones would she hate most? His brow stud? His lip ring? The tiny hoops on his upper ear? Max’s mouth curved into a wolfish smirk.
Definitely all of the above.
* * * * *
“Aw, God. This beer tastes like fucking skunk piss.”
Music thumping in a house packed with drunks, Max turned droll eyes to the biggest of his three companions. “What’d you expect? We’re at a frat party. We’re probably drinking Milwaukee’s fucking Best.”
Roger glanced at the huge keg shoved in the corner, then grimaced down at his red Solo cup. “Oh, Jesus. Not the Beast. That shit’ll make me puke.”
Beside them, Chaz scowled and shook his head. “Goddamn. And we agreed to come here willingly?”
All three pairs of eyes slid irritably to comrade number four. Luke glared irritably back. “Oh, stop crying. God, you’re all such bitches. My boy asked me to drop by. I extended the invite. No one forced your pretentious asses to come.”
Chaz grunted. “No one said we’d be surrounded by slobbering idiots.” He pointed with his Solo cup to some dudes at the pool table. “It’s barely eleven o’clock and those jackoffs can barely stand.”
Luke smirked. “Ah, but Chaz, they’re just your type. You like it when they drool, remember?”
Chaz’s annoyed expression wavered. Finally, he grinned. “I only like that shit with my slaves. While I’m fucking their subspaced brains out.”
Roger chuckled with a nod and took another swig. Then grimaced just as hard as before.
Max shook his head and resumed his scrutiny, eyeing all those crammed into the living room. The party wasn’t that awful. The music was right. Nine Inch Nails, “Closer,” pounding at the perfect volume. The crowd was Max’s age, clearly students of Mason, too, but definitely younger than the rest of his entourage. Those guys were all quite a few years older, with Max the youngest in his circle. A group of Doms he’d tracked down after moving back, determined to connect with those of a similar mind. Because that was his lifestyle and wasn’t going to change just because he had to relocate. In truth, it was imperative that it didn’t. He needed to keep domming. It kept him sane. Fortunately, after only being home for a semester, he’d been able to land a few clients. Thanks, in part, to the referrals and recommendations of the guys he’d come to this party with.
Max shot quick glances at the three Doms beside him. Roger was the biggest. He was also the hairiest, and kind of reminded Max of Greg. Luke was the Alex O’Loughlin look-alike. Chaz was the rough-around-the-edges Latino. So, naturally, Max related to him most. All of them were big, though. As in, muscular big. And by association, now Max was, too. Which he fucking loved. Gave his Dom persona a shit ton more growl whenever he did scenes with his subs. Had to work hard to maintain that shit, though, so he hit the gym with the guys three times a week. And since Luke taught self-defense at the place, they got to work out there for free.