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)
I glanced down at the plate. It was what looked like a breakfast sandwich, and my mouth watered.
“Figured you’d need something greasy, by the way you sounded,” he said as he looked at Swiss. “These bastards know how to party.”
“And you know how to make good as fuck coffee,” Swiss retorted, his arm still around me. “Which is the only reason I’m not taking you outside for callin’ my woman and draggin’ her out of bed in the morning.”
I gaped up at him and at the threat he delivered that only slightly sounded like he was joking.
Julian, to his credit, didn’t look surprised or intimidated. Not even a little bit.
“Well, your woman can give me a run for my money, so she’s worth risking a tousle with you,” he shot back, winking at me.
Swiss chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re the only fucker who can get away with talking to me like that.”
“It’s the accent,” he smirked. “I’m adorable.” Julian looked at me. “Eat that.” He pointed to the plate. “Say goodbye to your old man, make him a coffee to keep him happy, and then we’ve got work to do.”
Julian did not wait for a response, he turned back to the coffee machine and barked at a customer to “Wait a bloody second.”
The customer in question blinked in surprise but then stood quietly as ordered.
I grinned as I took my first bite of the sandwich.
Then I made a noise at the back of my throat. The bread was perfectly toasted, slathered in butter and soaking with bacon grease. Exactly what my body needed right then.
Swiss watched me eat. I normally would’ve been really self-conscious about him watching me eat in such a messy and unladylike way, but I was much too hungry and hungover to worry about that.
“You gonna share some of that with me?” he asked, teasing in his tone.
Wordlessly, I handed the plate to him. Swiss picked up the sandwich and took a large bite, looking at me while he did it before handing it back to me.
The act of sharing food was incredibly intimate, despite everything we’d done that could’ve been perceived as very fricking intimate too.
I took another bite then handed him the plate once more. We went back and forth until the sandwich was done, and my stomach no longer felt so unpredictable.
I wiped my face with a napkin, and Swiss leaned in to kiss the corner of my mouth.
“Gonna make me a coffee now, Countess?” he asked quietly.
I nodded once.
“Good,” he winked. “Makes sense, you set me up for the day with your pussy then your coffee.”
My cheeks burned, and Swiss grinned wickedly.
“I know me being crass is turnin’ you on, but we’re in a public place. Get a hold of yourself,” he quipped, reaching back to squeeze my ass.
I grinned back at him, and as if I was floating on air, I walked to the coffee machine and proceeded to make my man a coffee.
Once I’d handed it to him, he yanked me in for a long kiss not suitable for public consumption.
“I’ll pick you up later, baby,” he murmured.
I nodded, breathless.
Then I watched him walk out.
I was not the only one.
“Stop pervin’ at your man, and get me a latte,” Julian barked.
I jumped to attention and did as he said. My mind was on Swiss and coffee for the rest of the day.
I didn’t know when I started living at the clubhouse… It kind of just happened. Just like how I started working at the café.
Julian did not bat an eyelash at ‘paying me under the table,’ nor did he question why I couldn’t provide things like a social security number or why my address on file was a motel.
The motel that served as a symbol more than anything else. Storage for my meager belongings and the place where I’d hidden the remaining items I was keeping in case of emergency.
A diamond tennis bracelet. My wedding and engagement rings. I should’ve pawned those first. The second I made the decision to leave. I wasn’t sure why I was still holding on to them. They were a symbol of the pain I’d lived through, of the control Preston had had over me.
But I couldn’t let go of them. Even though both of the rings were worth thousands. Tens of thousands. More than enough to set me up.
I’d need to pay for a lawyer eventually, though. A good one. And although I hadn’t had much experience of the real world in my adult life, I understood that a good divorce lawyer was likely to cost more than the rings and bracelet were worth. Maybe ten times more.
That thought made me itchy and panicky, so I tried to avoid it and the motel. I only went there under the pretense that I had some kind of life outside of Swiss and the club.