Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
I always get resentful looks from people in town. Our house is like something you’d see on one of those celebrity homes TV shows, and my car isn’t exactly lowkey either. When I marry Tyler, I’ll be moving in with him and his family, a situation I haven’t fully processed yet. Every time I think about sharing a bed with a man I’ve met only a handful of times, I start to feel sick.
“I’m not hungry,” I confess, glancing around the bar for something to distract me. I see a couple of guys in leather jackets staring at me and turn away. I should have worn something less conspicuous, but that would have meant going back to the house to change and risk running into my dad.
“You? Skipping on fries?” Sandy gasps. “What’s the world coming to? Oh, and what’s going on with your makeup tonight? Did you ask a teenage boy to do it for you or something?”
I blush hard and push my hair over my face. If only she knew what really happened.
“Don’t pick on me, okay?” I say. “My life’s ending in two weeks. Have some sympathy.”
Sandy scoffs, giggling. “Pick on you? Miss I-drive-a-Mercedes-Benz-at-eighteen? Cry me a river.”
I laugh. Sandy is the only one who I’m okay with talking to me like that. Also the only one who is honest enough to give me a hard time. Everyone else treats me like royalty because of who my father is.
Maybe that’s another reason I am so attracted to Finn. He wasn’t intimidated by me at all. In fact, it was almost like he wanted to prove to me that he didn’t care who I was. That my overpriced clothes and ridiculous car meant nothing.
I’m feeling flushed and gulp down some ice water in an attempt to cool myself down when Sandy’s eyes go wide. She’s looking over my shoulder at something I can’t see and whispers a warning, “Oh God, Mira, you’re about to get hit on.”
I groan and deliberately don’t turn around to look. Maybe whoever it is will think twice and go away. I am not in the mood for terrible, drunken bar-rizz. Sadly, I can tell by Sandy’s face that my attempt at communication via body language is not working and brace myself for the incoming awkwardness.
“Hey, there, ladies,” a voice bellows as a biker guy steps up to our table. He’s tall, shaved bald, and built like the trunk of a tree. “Do you know what fucks like a tiger and blinks a lot?”
I don’t answer.
Sandy laughs, and does so on my behalf. “No, tell me.”
The man starts blinking rapidly, trying not to laugh at his own joke.
“Wow, that’s a good one,” Sandy groans. “But we’re kind of having a girl talk right now, so if you wouldn’t mind?”
The guy frowns. His leather jacket makes me think of Finn. There are a few motorcycle gangs in this area, and I’m betting Finn is in one of them. Not whatever one this guy’s in, though. I can’t see the two of them ever getting along. Finn is strong, dominant, and sparse with his words. This guy’s grinning like a boy who just had his first beer and thought it would be fun to try a cheesy pickup line on a girl.
Like a movie flashback, our moment back in the closet comes rushing back to me…
His rough hands pulling me through the door, pinning me up against the wall and snatching my hair in his tight grip. He commanded me, spoke like he owned me, and had me tingling all over before he even got my pants down. And when he touched me…it was the most incredible sensation ever. I’m getting wet again just thinking about it and what else he could do to me.
What would his enormous cock feel like inside me? I’d never even had fingers in me until his. I wonder if it would hurt. Or would the pleasure just override everything else? From the look of his arms, I bet he has the most muscular physique ever, built from a hard life of riding and fixing motorcycles. I bet his abs are insane and his lips feel like—
Wow, what am I doing? This isn’t like me.
I never have thoughts like this. Never fantasize. Now I’m a flaming ball of red-hot horniness, just itching for more Finn.
Sandy nudges me under the table, and I realize I’ve just been spacing out completely, day-dreaming a whirlwind of dirty thoughts.
“Come on,” the guy says loudly. “That was a good one! Gimmie a chance for God’s sake.”
Before I can react, the man slides into the booth beside me and slips his sweaty, gross arm around my shoulders. My nose puckers. Clearly no one has told him about deodorant. He stinks like cigarettes and swampy salt water. I have to fight back a gag reflex as I try to struggle out from beneath him.