Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
The stripper pole in the corner with the naked girl on it—except for a G-string and nipple tassels—was more what I was imagining. Some men were gathered around, gripping beers, watching with appreciation and speaking to each other.
But plenty more were gathered in mini man huddles, and a good amount were making out with women. Some were playing pool. Most of the men had on the leather vests. Not all of them had the patches on the back, though. There were some which only had the word ‘Prospect’ right at the very bottom. Most of them were as young as the boy at the gate.
The music was louder here, but not too loud as to suppress conversation. All of the stimuli were overpowering, but I was just glad that there were so many people here that my entrance had gone unnoticed. Who would notice me and my decidedly modest outfit and subtle makeup with all the hot, young, scantily clad women around?
I found my way to the bar in the room, thankful for the bucket of beers on top of it that were unopened and twist top.
Another thing I’d drilled into my daughter, especially with her traveling to a country with a lower drinking age: never drink something a man gives you if it’s open. Never leave your drink unattended. Even though Violet was smart and sensible, every moment of the day I was filled with an undercurrent of worry about her.
The beer was cold, and I gripped the cap in my left hand after I opened it.
I drank greedily from the bottle, both for the liquid courage and for something to do.
I’d never entered a party of any kind alone. Not once. Even as a teenager, I was always with Preston. As an accessory, as a trophy. I’d come to resent it wholeheartedly, but here, for a split second, I missed the structure of it. There was none of this nervousness or fear, of standing awkwardly with no one to talk to, with no role to play.
But then I remembered that there was fear with him. Fear that I’d say the wrong thing, look at the wrong person, smile at the wrong man and then pay for it later. Be called a dimwit, a slut or a bad wife.
No, there was nothing to miss about those days.
Plus, with half the beer drained, I was beginning to feel less self-conscious. I’d approached the bar at the very edge, most of the people congregated around it were bunched in the middle. I had my own little area where I could lean against the cool wood unnoticed, watching the party like I was at the zoo, and these were creatures I’d never seen before.
Which was truly the case.
All of the parties I’d been to were stuffy, fragranced, and pumped with fancy food and expensive champagne. There were flowers, classical music playing at a tasteful level. Expectations on how to act.
No one here seemed to be playing by any kinds of rules. Especially the women. I found myself enchanted with them.
All of them had something about them. A way they handled themselves, an energy that I could feel even from a brief glance. They were wholly their own. They were not trophies. They could dance with their heads thrown back in the air—like one woman in a pretty flowing dress was doing—or could be basically having sex with a man in the corner. They could slam shots—like the one at the end of the bar, shouting at a man with a goatee that he was a ‘pussy who couldn’t handle his booze.’
Laughter mingled with the rock music. I smiled to myself, content to be in this little corner. Maybe I’d finish this beer, watch for a while longer and leave. But even the thought of it had me uncomfortable.
Inexplicably, I felt safe here.
Because I’d been musing on that thought, I didn’t see him approach. That he got close enough to me for his leather vest to brush the skin of my arm attested to just how deep in thought I’d been.
“You look lonely.”
I blinked at the words, the rasp of the voice. Low and rumbly. The tenor of it brushed over the exposed skin of my arms.
My eyes found his, deep hazel, swirling with gold flecks.
The man. From the gas station. The one who had caught my eye for no apparent reason—well, other than being attractive beyond what I’d thought was actually real.
He was here. Right in front of me. Close enough to feel the warmth of his body. To inhale his scent… crisp, masculine, woodsy. My body reacted to that scent.
Well, and his overall hotness.
Up close, he was even more handsome. His skin was deep brown, lips full, jawbone strong and angled. His neck was the same, thick, smooth, inviting. I had an urge to lean forward and inhale his skin. But even if I did lean forward, I’d be face to face with a sculpted pec. He was that tall. And muscled.