Wrong (#1) Read Online Free Book L.P. Lovell, Stevie J. Cole

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Bad Boy, Contemporary, Crime, Dark, Erotic, New Adult, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors: , Series: Wrong Series by L.P. Lovell
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Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 87961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
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“What the…” I walk out after her, shaking my head.

She makes a beeline for the stage and plops down in an empty seat. Tor glares at me, looking around before her eyes fall back on mine. A guy near us turns and drags his eyes over her body before winking at her. He’s blatantly undressing her with his eyes. She scowls at him.

“All right, let’s go.” I reach down to grab her hand and she snatches it away from me.

She rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe that I am having to try and convince you to drink and watch strippers.”

“Fine.” I shrug and take a seat in the chair next to her.

The guy gawking at her whistles. “Hey, sweet thing, you gonna crawl up there and show them girls how it’s done?” he slurs, swaying in his chair.

Tor nervously laughs and scoots her chair closer to me, and the guy keeps staring. He stands and she immediately hops up and drops in my lap. I frown and tilt my head to look at her. “Excuse me?”

She leans in close to me, her hands flat against my chest. The smell of tequila nearly knocks me out of my chair. “That guy is creepy,” she whispers, her breath blowing over my neck. The fact that I am now her safety is beyond fucked up. I shift her weight in my lap.

I place my hand on her leg and glare at the guy. His eyes immediately redirect to the stage. Her eyes drop to my hand. “Would you get your hand off of me?”

“Relax, Tor.” I lean in to her ear. “You put yourself here, don’t blame a guy for taking advantage. I promise I won’t bite.” I whisper teasingly as I place my hand on her thigh. “Try to relax, maybe even enjoy yourself.”

She eyes my hand on her leg. “I’m pretty bloody sure that’s something the devil says to you when he welcomes you to hell.” She huffs then glances back over to the guy still eyeing her. “And just so you know, I’m only sitting on you so I don’t get raped.”

Smiling, I sweep her hair to the side. “Well, at least you think I won’t do that.” I hold my gaze with hers, watching her. A giddy squeal comes from behind me. “JP!” I turn, coming eye level with a pair nipples at attention.

“You don’t come around as much as you used to. It makes all us girls sad.” Tara leans over and presses a kiss to my cheek as her eyes fix on Tor. “Is this your new girl?”

“Not exactly.” I angle my head to look at Tor and catch her roll her eyes.

“Oh, Crystal’s gonna be so mad at you!” Tara bats her fake eyelashes. “Want some drinks?”

Tor hiccups, and I pull in a breath. She’s fucking drunk as piss, and I’m going to need a drink to handle her for the thirty minute drive back home. “Get me a whiskey, would you?”

Tara nods and trots over to the bar. Tor glares at me, crossing her arms over her chest. “Where’s my drink?”

I cock a brow at her. “You already had your bottle. You don’t need another drink. You’ll just throw up.”

“I haven’t had nearly enough,” she grumbles. “At least not enough to deal with this hell hole.”

Just as Tor mumbles that, Tara leans in with a tray of drinks. She looks Tara over from head to toe. “Tell Caleb to call me, would you?” Tara says.

“Yeah, sure.”

She struts off, shaking her ass as she makes her way over to a man holding out a fistful of cash. “Oh, bloody hell no! Not Caleb.” Tor shakes her head. “Please tell me he’s not sticking his dick in that nasty shit.”

I laugh and squeeze her thigh, allowing my eyes to drift up to the girl on the stage. “Oh, come on, now. All men fuck strippers.”

“Gambling, murder, and whores. Might as well complete the repertoire, I guess.”

I direct my attention back to her. “Would you expect any less of me?”

She shrugs, slowly moving my hand from her leg and placing it on the arm of the chair. “My expectations of you are extremely low, Jude.”

Ain’t that the fucking truth?

“So”—I arch a brow at her—“how’s hell treating you?”

“Hell has tequila. It could be worse.” She shrugs and pets my cheek like a damn dog “You’re an arsehole, but you’re a really pretty arsehole,” she slurs, the scent of tequila blows across my face.

Fucking hell. She’s soused.

“You’re drunk.”

I toss my head back, laughing. “Shit, I need to be drunk around you. Hell, someone just hook me up to a fucking drip. Make this shit permanent.”

He slumps back against the chair, running his fingers through his short hair and sighing. “Fuck. I have a feeling you’re gonna be even more annoying drunk than sober.”


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