Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
“You are so bossy,” she whines as she slides in.
I shut her car door with a little more muscle than necessary, then walk around to the driver’s side and get in.
“You are the worst boss ever.”
“And you are an annoying drunk,” I retort.
“I also suck cock,” she says. My hands grip the wheel, squeezing it hard at her words. “Oh, look, big boy has no words.”
Clenching my jaw, I stay quiet.
She lets out a large groan before her head leans against the window, and then I hear a soft snore.
When I pull up to her house, I sit in the car out front for at least thirty minutes before getting out, it’s raining, and I don’t want to wake her just so she can get drenched. Eventually, the weather clears, and I walk around to her side and slowly open the door. I manage to catch her head before she falls, and she jolts as she rouses, her eyes opening and finding mine.
“Why are you here?” Her breath is in my face, and she smells like stale alcohol.
“You stink.”
She opens her mouth and blows a breath in my face with not a care in the world. “Cocksucker,” she mumbles.
Getting out, she stands on wobbly legs, then makes her way to the front steps leading up to the porch. I stand back and watch her struggle to find the key and put it into the lock. “Fucking hell.” Her keys drop to the wet ground, and when she bends down to retrieve them, she loses her balance, her hands just barely catching herself before she loses the battle and lands with her firm ass in a puddle. “This is why I don’t drink,” she mutters, lying down on the wet grass.
I study her for a little while before I move, so I’m standing above her. “Get the fuck up.”
Her eyes are closed, but they spring open at the sound of my voice. “Go away. I was sleeping.”
“Where are your keys?” I scan the ground but can’t see them.
“Possibly under my ass,” she mumbles, her eyes closing again.
“You are a terrible drunk.” I reach for the buckle on her belt and pull. It lifts her ass up so I can reach under and grab her keys.
“And you are manhandling me,” she complains.
“Shut up,” I reply and walk the step up the porch to the front door. When I turn back to her, she hasn’t moved, and her eyes are closed again. “Fuck me.”
I walk back down the porch and lift her up easily into my arms. She grumbles something, but I don’t care. I carry her inside and lay her on the couch, where she rolls straight to her stomach and starts to snore.
For a moment I think about getting her out of her wet clothes so she doesn’t catch a cold. I would be a real asshole if I allowed her to get sick. I set her bag on the table and take one last look at her sleeping form. It’s time to leave. I head to the door and silently close it behind me. The door whips open and Avani is standing on the threshold, her hair a tangled mess.
“I hate you,” she states, her voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. She leans up and kisses my cheek, then pushes my chest and shuts the door in my face with a loud bang.
The feeling is mutual, I think.
At least I keep telling myself that.
Chapter 11
On time, ha!
Avani
My head hurts, badly.
Hangovers aren’t for the weak, and mixing drinks is a big no-no. But I didn’t really get that memo last night when I decided to drink everything under the sun and more.
I reach for my phone with blurry eyes, then hold it in my hand before I open it to read a message from Grayson.
* * *
Grayson: Be ready by ten
* * *
So demanding. I forgot I agreed to go shopping with him for items for the club. I scroll up and read my other messages as they come back to me, and I cringe. Looking at the time, I have fifteen minutes to get ready. Shit.
I get up quickly and jump in the shower, getting lost in the soothing spray as I stand there. It feels good to shake off the fog in my head while I brush my teeth.
“Do you ever plan to be on time?”
I jump at that voice.
“Oh my God, are you in my shower?” I squeak.
“I’m in the bathroom, not the shower. You are in the shower,” he points out.
“And you are in my house,” I retort.
“Correction, my house, as you cleared up last night. But yes, I guess you do rent it.”
Pulling the shower curtain back, his eyes fall straight to my breasts before they slide down lower and lower until they finally trace their way back up to my face.