Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 43072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 215(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 215(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
“Ugh, why did he have to choose a place that has a dress code?” Jolene walks in here with me, much more lively than yesterday or glued to my hip. Poor girl went through the ringer. I go through the dresses again after not finding anything the first time around that stood out to me. More than likely, it’s me being pickier than normal because when I look again, I find the perfect dress that has the right amount of shimmer, an appropriate length, and I won’t need a bra with its built-in design. How they made it happen, I have no idea. I’m just thankful for it. A win-win in my book, seeing as how Journey was gifted a pair of nude heels of the uber-expensive designer type. She wore them only once, and since they were a half size too small, she handed them off to me. It was a lucky day because we may be able to share some sizes, but never when it comes to shoes.
“What do you think, girl? Good enough?” I hold the dress up to my body, heels in one hand, to show Jolene. She wags her tail, which moves her whole body. “I agree. I guess it’s time I respond to him then, huh?” I hang the dress on the door, higher so that Jolene’s hair won’t shed all over it, place my heels back on the rack, and pick up my phone I threw on the bed.
Me: See you there.
I don’t respond with anything else, not expecting a reply either. I’m surprised when I see the bubbles appear, then they disappear, and I throw my phone back on my bed. And wouldn’t you know it, it’s like destiny is staring me in the face. There, on the messily made-up bed, my phone lands on Madden’s shirt that I’ve yet to wash and that I’ve worn to bed every night since it came into my possession. I’m so fucked.
FOURTEEN
Madden
“I didn’t think you’d show up.” I’m leaning on the bar, holding a frosted glass filled with an IPA, not wanting to take a barstool seeing as how we have a reservation. A reservation I wasn’t exactly sure that Hendrix would show up to. She did, looking more beautiful than ever.
“I thought about it, then figured a free dinner, so why not?” Hendrix’s hair is in a slick and low ponytail, showing off that beautiful skin of hers. She’s clearly not wearing a bra, giving me another glimpse of what I’ve been dying to see since the last time. Fuck, I’ve jacked my cock raw. Me and Rosy Palmer are about tired of the callouses. It doesn’t stop me from taking matters into my own hands when the need arises.
“You want something to drink? We have a few more minutes until our reservation is ready,” I ask her. Instead of responding, she takes my glass out of my hand, lifts it up to her lips, and takes a sip. It shouldn’t be seductive in the least, yet seeing Hendrix take my drink, mouth where mine was, watching her throat work… One day soon, it’s going to be my cock she takes in her mouth, swallowing around my length. “I’ll take that as a no.” I turn my head to the bartender to get his attention, since it looks like Hendrix is going to finish my drink.
“What made you pick this place? You don’t seem like the guy who would choose The Hyacinth.” The bartender hands me my beer. She’s still holding the other one hostage, a healthy amount having disappeared. It takes me aback, her question that is, not that Hendrix is keeping my drink for herself.
“And why do you think that is?” I’m genuinely amused. Sure, I prefer jeans and cotton shirts or athletic-type wear out on the canyons. Don’t most guys? I mean, sure, I bitch about wearing them to the office, but when it comes down to it, Hendrix is worth dealing with a suit, minus the tie.
“I would have assumed we’d meet at a burger joint or something instead, is all.” She shrugs her shoulders. My eyes zero in on the cleavage that moves right along with her body. How Hendrix looks tonight, it’s enough to make a man like myself lose control.
“Mr. Hughes, your table is ready.” I’m saved from saying anything else to Hendrix, instead nodding my head to the hostess, hand going to Hendrix’s lower back.
“Relax, trouble, unless you’re worried you’ll have a repeat of when your back was pressed against my vehicle, pussy practically purring like a cat in heat,” I whisper into her ear. Her body tightens beneath my hand as we follow the hostess. You gotta give it to The Hyacinth—it might cost some bank to eat here, but the atmosphere, the old-world charm, the way you’re treated the entire time, it’s nice, too.