Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 54888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
The first one looked like an all-American, boy-next-door type. His blond hair was cut short, parted on the side and smoothed back. He had bright blue eyes that were of course glossed over and a little unfocused. They all reeked of alcohol as well, which I assumed as soon as I’d seen them. The other three were pretty much carbon copies of All-American, but their hair and eye color were of different shades.
But they definitely had the same arrogance, the same style of button-up shirts and pressed khakis. I had no doubt they wore matching loafers as well. They screamed money, or at least mommy and daddy money.
“Hey, you must be new,” All-American said with a grin.
His smile made me feel a little bit grossed out, as if it wasn’t a pleasant one but held some kind of alternate meaning, which I’m sure it did.
“We come here all the time, and I’ve never seen you here before.” He blatantly eyed me up and down, his gaze landing on my chest. “And I would have remembered you,” he murmured in a slimy voice.
I felt the need to cross my arms over my chest, but instead I straightened my spine and tipped my chin, letting him know I wasn’t intimidated by his disgusting appraisal. “Up here, buddy,” I said in a cold, detached voice. He looked at me, his grin still in place. “What can I get for you?” I held up my pad to jot down their orders.
He rattled off a round of beers, and I nodded, not saying anything else before heading back to the bar. I set my tray down and instantly noticed Bishop’s focus was trained on the high top where All-American and his friends were. His dark-brown eyebrows were pulled in almost a scowl, and I could see a muscle in his jaw working, as if he were grinding his molars.
I brought my own brows down low as I followed his gaze to the four college guys. But all of them were too engrossed in their conversation, their laughter loud and obnoxious, drowning out a lot of the noise at the bar.
Bishop scowled a little harder and then looked at me, that anger clear on his face turning instantly into a warm smile. My heart skipped a beat at that sight and how that sexy dimple popped up once more.
“How are you doing?” he asked as he came up to me, leaning against the counter.
“Good,” I answered honestly.
“I’m glad,” he said, his expression seeming very… consumed as he watched me. His grin was slow and satisfied. We stared at each other another moment before I wrapped my mind around the fact that I was still at work. I rattled off the drink order, and once he had them on my tray, he gave me a wink that was probably nothing more than a “got get ’em, tiger” kind of thing, but I wanted it to be something totally different… totally sexual.
God, I am losing my damn mind.
I gave Bishop one more appreciative glance—and thankfully he had his back turned already—before I made my way over to the table, but with each step I got closer to All-American and his buddies, the more tightness I felt in my bones. I was only a few feet from them when I felt that tingling along my skin once more. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Bishop’s eyes trained right on me, this intense, almost smoldering look spearing right into me.
Exhaling, because there was no way I was imagining his attraction to me, I focused on the task at hand and faced forward, reaching the table and pasting on a fake-as-hell smile.
I noticed my hands shook slightly as I set the beers in front of them, a reaction I wasn’t sure had to do with the intensity I felt toward Bishop or the fact that All-American just made me feel on-edge. I straightened, my faux smile still in place. “Can I get you guys anything else?” Three out of four of them shook their heads and murmured they were “all set” before going right back into the conversation they’d been in before I’d gotten to their table. And of course said conversation was in dirty asshole territory, because they were boasting about the “newest piece of ass” they’d just “hit.”
I didn’t bother looking at All-American. I found him to be the most unsettling out of the four, as if he were the creepy, perverted ringleader of the bunch. Just as I was about to turn, said creepy asshole reached out and snagged my wrist, pulling me to a stop.
My entire body tensed as I pointedly looked at where his fingers were curled around my flesh and then lifted my gaze to stare distastefully into his eyes. “Can you please let go of me, sir?” He didn’t deserve the title, but I was still aiming to be a professional here. That was about to be thrown out the window though.