Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Okay. I’m going to need a text as soon as you’re done. I gotta know what kinds of places men are taking women on dates these days. I’m so over Let’s go get drinks, y’know?”
“Yeah, totally. Brooks isn’t a really Let’s go get drinks kind of guy.”
“I’m not at all jealous or anything,” she said, scrunching her face up at me before turning to beam a smile at someone who came in through the doors.
The rest of the day was a blur, and the big hand was barely on five before I had my bag on my shoulder, and was rushing out of the door.
I got dressed in a blur, throwing on biker shorts, a tee, and canvas sneakers before driving over to the clubhouse, not even caring that being there so early felt borderline desperate of me.
What can I say?
I was desperate.
After wanting someone for so long, I felt it was okay to be a little obsessed with them when you finally got them.
Like he’d been waiting, the door opened as soon as I slammed my car door, and I did a little twirl for Brooks.
“How’s the ‘fit?” I asked. “I didn’t have a lot to work with.”
“It’s perfect,” he told me, reaching to pull me close, and sealing his lips to mine. Long and deep enough to get the stirrings of desire, but he pulled back before I got to the point where I wanted to say ‘fuck our plans’ and take him to bed. “You want to take the bike or your car?” he asked.
“Is that really a question?” I asked.
I loved the bike.
I was actually considering signing up for a basic rider course and then getting my own license and bike.
But for the time being, I was loving riding with Brooks.
“Then let’s head out,” he said, fingers digging into my hip as he walked me to his bike.
“How far are we going?”
“Just twenty minutes,” he told me as I climbed on behind him, scooting in close, my arms wrapping him up tight.
At that moment, I didn’t really care where we were going.
It wasn’t until we were standing in the lot of a long, low, unassuming stucco building that I felt anticipation sizzle through my system.
The sign out front said simply Fury.
“What is this?” I asked, brows pinched.
To that, Brooks shot me a small smile.
“It’s a rage room,” he told me.
“No way,” I said, smile starting to spread.
I mean, I knew what rage rooms were, of course. I’d watched many videos of people all decked out in safety suits swinging bats at TVs like everyone else who’d ever been on social media. And I’d always thought that it would be fun. But I’d never thought to actually add it to my list.
“Excited?” he asked.
“Hell yeah. This is such a fun idea.”
With that, he led me inside, where he stopped at the desk to order the ‘Pissed off’ Package. Which, apparently, allowed for two TVs, thirty pieces of glass, two small appliances, various liquor bottles, and other ‘small’ items.
From there, we were led back, each given white safety suits that covered us head-to-toe, a helmet, and some safety glasses, then given very strict instructions to never remove any part of our suits, especially the glasses, until we left the room.
“Do you want the rage music on too?” the guy asked.
Brooks looked to me.
“I mean, you kind of have to, right?” I asked.
He gave me a nod, then led us into the large, windowless room where all our breakables were set up. Some items were set on tables. Others were on the floor. Others still were hanging from ropes to really be able to get a good swing going.
“Ladies first,” Brooks said, handing me a bat as the music came thumping through the speakers, metallic and screaming.
I took a deep breath, looking around, feeling suddenly a little insecure about this for reasons I didn’t quite understand.
But I fought past that, gripping the bat, and taking a tentative swing at one of the flatscreens sitting against the wall.
One swing turned into two, then three, four.
It wasn’t long before I really got into the swing of it.
Maybe the music was helping, the anger seeping in through my soles and moving up through my feet to spread throughout my body, reaching something deep within me that I didn’t really even know existed.
I was so in the moment that I didn’t even realize that Brooks had never even picked up his own bat, let alone started to swing at things.
This, it seemed, was all for me.
And, as the glass shattered and the plates crashed and the appliances crunched, the need for more more more built inside of me, making me strike harder, until each swing had my whole weight behind it, straining muscles I didn’t even know existed.
The anger, along with the song that was playing at the time, reached a fever pitch, leaving me swinging harder and faster, something else bubbling up under the thrill and rage.