Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“Like what?”
I zoom through a yellow light and hope all the traffic signals will be in my favor so I can make it to Top Dog without breaking too many laws or getting a ticket. I lean on the horn for some slow-driving motherfucker who thinks the speed limit is two miles per hour.
“Leave her like what, Petra?” I ask again when she doesn’t reply.
“There’s just all these…” Her pause dangles me over a cliff.
“All these what? For fuck’s sake, Petra, if you don’t—”
“These guys,” she says, the words sounding like they’re being dragged over gravel. “All these guys are with her and it’s a bad vibe.”
My hands tighten on the steering wheel. I might grind a hole in my teeth at the thought of Verity drunk in that skimpy dress with a bunch of guys in a bar.
“Just come get our girl,” Petra says.
“My girl,” I correct automatically.
“Keep telling yourself that,” she teases. “Just… maybe it’s not as bad as I think—”
“No, it’s bad,” a voice pipes in on Petra’s end.
“That’s Randi,” Petra says. “She said—”
“I heard her. Almost there. See you soon.”
I hang up because I’m on the brink of losing my shit, and Petra and her girlfriend aren’t helping. It’s another five minutes before I pull into Top Dog’s parking lot practically on two wheels. I squeeze into a tiny spot and don’t even slow down when my door dings the neighboring car. I charge into the bar, which feels completely anticlimactic, considering the atmosphere in Top Dog when I arrive. Ginuwine’s “Pony” plays in the background, the volume low enough that the chatter of the bar’s patrons almost overwhelms the song. A group of students plays pool in a corner. The smell of wings and liquor is strong. I finally spot Petra and Randi seated in a booth near the kitchen.
“’Bout time,” Petra says, relief on her face and slumping her shoulders. Her shirt is soaking wet, but I don’t have time to worry about that.
“Thanks for calling.” I look around. “Where is she?”
“She went to the bathroom.” Petra grimaces. “With all the alcohol she’s had, and considering what a lightweight she is, she’s probably puking her guts up.”
“If you’re finished with your Good Samaritan act,” Randi says, standing to her feet, “let’s go. We’re already late for the movie.”
“Alright, baby girl.” Petra stands and gives Randi’s ass an affectionate pat. “Missing the previews ain’t the end of the world.”
“Thanks again,” I say, glancing toward the restrooms, already mentally dismissing Petra and Randi and impatient to find my girl.
“No problem.” Petra’s smile melts into a flat line. “Just get her home safe and figure out whatever’s got her acting like this.”
“I plan to,” I say grimly, returning her fist-bump.
The hallway leading to the restrooms is dark and deserted. Under normal circumstances, I would never enter the women’s bathroom, but Verity is running around half naked and drunk. We’re past normal circumstances. I crack the door open.
“Anybody in here?” I call. “I’m looking for a girl. Verity, you in there?”
No response.
Petra said she saw Verity come in. Maybe she snuck out a window? Slipped past Petra’s table?
“Last warning,” I say. “I’m coming in.”
It’s empty. Just to make sure Verity’s not passed out in one of the stalls, I check them all, but I’m alone in here.
“Well, damn,” I mutter, letting the restroom door swing closed behind me. “Guess I could call.”
I dial Verity’s phone, and freeze when “My Cherie Amour” rings from the men’s restroom. My heart speeds ahead of my body and I approach the men’s room stealthily like a wild animal is trapped in there. When I enter the bathroom, Verity’s purse is on the counter and her phone pokes from the top, the screen lit with my incoming call.
“I should answer that,” her voice comes, breathy and slightly slurred, from the stall at the end.
“They’ll leave a message,” a male voice replies.
I push the stall door, and unlocked, it gives under the light press of my hand. The guy has his hand up Verity’s skirt, gripping her ass. Her halter top is down, the flimsy bodice hanging, leaving her naked to the waist. This guy, this stranger, is squeezing my girl’s breast, and for a moment, I can’t breathe; don’t even blink. This must be some kind of waking nightmare.
“Monk,” Verity gasps, but doesn’t move. She doesn’t scramble to cover herself. She doesn’t startle or even look guilty. Our gazes hold, and there’s an odd indifference in hers, like she’s staring at a stranger, not the guy she confessed her love to as she drifted off to sleep.
“You know this guy?” he asks, glancing at me over his shoulder, but not bothering to cover her up or pull his hand from under her dress.
“Yeah.” Verity slumps against the stall and finally fumbles to pull up the bodice of her dress. Her face is smoothed into a mask that tells me nothing, shows me nothing. “That’s my boyfriend.”