Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 104657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
“Well, that was unexpected and lackluster,” I say, even though I think it’s pretty fucking cool. “I’m heading out. Good luck house shopping tomorrow.” I stand.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
“I’m going to drink a lot of beer. Don’t wait up. If things go as planned, I won’t be home until tomorrow morning.”
“Mind if I tag along? I don’t want to be here when my mom gets back. She’ll spend all night nagging me about the painting. And tomorrow is Friday, and I don’t work Fridays.”
“Everleigh, I don’t think a tagalong is a good idea when I’m planning on getting laid tonight.”
“How long will it take you? I’m planning on getting laid, too, but I’m taking your advice and just dropping my panties for some stranger in the bathroom. Are you planning wine, chocolate-covered fruit, a canopy bed, and a lot of foreplay? If so, just grab a ride home. I won’t drink, so I can drive us there. This way, you won’t have to leave your Bronco at the bar.”
Her delivery is worthy of an award. Is she really planning on getting laid? If she hasn’t had sex since being with me, then that seems unlikely. Was Liz lying about that? This woman and her mother are fucking with my head.
“So really, you’re just suggesting we ride to the bar together? Because I can’t have you hanging out with me if I’m trying to find someone else to be with for the night,” I say.
“Same. I’m just giving you a ride. I can’t have you messing with my game either.”
Does Everleigh Reichart have game? I rub my fingers across my lips to hide my grin. “Whatever. I’ll change my clothes and meet you at your car in ten minutes,” I say.
“Fifteen minutes. I need to put on some makeup, change into a dress and heels, and remove my underwear.” She spins on her toes and heads downstairs.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” I grumble.
“I think my dress is too short to go without underwear,” Everleigh says, tugging on the skirt of her short, white, strapless dress before sliding into the driver’s seat.
Her deep-red lips, eyes painted smoky gray and brown, and subtle floral fragrance give me instant regret. I don’t want to leave the driveway with her, let alone go to the bar where I’ll have to watch her draw the attention of every other man there.
“Maybe you should wear underwear. You can always take it off later.” Words I never imagined coming out of my mouth.
“It’s fine.” She checks her lips in the rearview mirror before shifting into reverse. “I don’t want to waste any more time and risk my mom coming home and either talking me out of going or insisting we take her too.”
I stare at her toned legs, and when I shift my gaze to her face, she gives me a sideways glance and smirks. “Do you have condoms? I have some in my purse if you need one.”
“Do you always have condoms in your purse?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
“Do you have one?”
“Of course.” I stare out my window. “The speed limit is forty-five.”
“Thought you were a firefighter, not a cop,” she says, continuing to drive sixty in a forty-five. “And you told me to get a speeding ticket.”
“If a child runs into the street and you run them over, who will fix your mind when you want to slit your wrists?”
“Jesus, Will.” She brakes hard, and I grab the dash. “That’s pretty dark.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve seen some pretty dark situations. The fire department gets called for more than just fires.”
Dang! I sound old.
After a minute of silence and following the speed limit, she asks, “What have you seen that haunts you the most?”
“Can’t say.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re not in my network, and I have it on good authority that you’re way out of my price range.”
“If I weren’t paid up on rent, we could barter.”
“Is that so? You’d get a place to live for thirty days, and I’d get what? Two or three hours of therapy?”
“And drugs. Don’t forget I’m an overpaid, overeducated drug dealer. But I don’t give you the actual drugs. I just write the prescription.” She pulls into a spot along the street, across from the bar. “So you’re good on condoms?” She unbuckles.
“I’m good.”
“Great.” She steps out of the car and locks it as soon as I shut my door. “Have a good night, Will.” She struts in front of me, her hips swaying with each step as she tugs at her dress to keep her perfectly shaped ass covered.
When she breezes past a group of guys standing at a tall, round table, drinking beer and watching the game on the TV, one of them cranes his neck to watch her, then he pulls his trucker hat lower on his head and mumbles, “Shit, that’s my shrink. I’m not supposed to be at the bar this month.” He ducks his head and bumps into me on his way out.