Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 61897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
“And so you wrote a book,” she said.
“Sort of. I was contacted by my publisher, asked if I was interested. Some other guy actually wrote the thing. I just told him some stories.”
She nodded. “So why do this tour though? All this publicity?”
“If I don’t, it all goes away.”
“You don’t care about the money, though. I just don’t get it.”
I frowned, shrugging. I wanted to tell her the truth so badly, but I knew that I could fuck everything up if I did. Instead, I leaned in and grinned.
“The pussy,” I said.
“What?”
“It’s all this pussy. If I weren’t famous, it wouldn’t be so easy.”
She shook her head, mystified. “You’re such an asshole. Can’t be serious for one second, can you?”
“I am serious,” I said, sipping my drink. “That’s my other skill. Fighting and fucking.”
“The only things a well-rounded man needs,” she joked.
“I can drink to that.”
She smiled and we clinked glasses, sipping.
“So what’s your deal?” I asked her.
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t seem like the type to be in this just for the money.”
She frowned. “This is all about the money.”
“Okay,” I said. “Obviously you don’t have to tell me. I’m just curious about you.”
“Well don’t be.”
I watched as she practically shut down on the spot, and I couldn’t help but smile at her.
“Sounds like you do have something to hide,” I said.
“I’m an open book.”
“Not exactly. You act like you’re all business, but I know what’s really going on.”
“Oh do you?”
I sipped my drink, nodding. “You can’t stop thinking about me. You keep thinking about what it would be like to slide my big cock between your legs.”
“Do men with big dicks talk about them as much as you do?”
I grinned at her. “We sure do. I’d love to give you a taste.”
“Right here at the bar?” she teased.
“Wherever you want.”
“I’ll take a rain check on that.”
I waved at Jimmy and he walked over. “Gin and tonic, please,” I said.
He nodded and walked away. I snatched the drink out from in front of her and poured it into my own glass.
“Hey,” she said. “I was drinking that.”
“No. You were looking at it. The gin is for you.”
She laughed and thanked Jimmy when he put it in front of her. We clinked glasses again, and this time she actually drank.
I began to tell her stories about the war. People loved to hear stories, and every once in a while I actually liked to tell them. For some reason she was easy to talk to, and she didn’t ask stupid questions. She just listened to the stories, laughed when they were funny, frowned when they were scary, and basically acted like she gave a shit.
Which was nice. I was so used to telling this sort of stuff to television personalities that did not care about me one way or the other. All they wanted was a good spot for their show, and that was it. I was an interchangeable part for them, a cog in the fucking media machine.
And it bored the shit out of me. So it felt good to finally talk to someone who was listening to what I was saying, not just thinking about how it was going to play with their audience.
“So finally,” I said, “we rush into the barracks, and what do we see?”
“What?” she asked, smiling.
“Little John tied up to the fucking bed screaming, ‘The British are coming! The British are coming!’”
She cracked up and I grinned at her. That was one of my best stories, the sort of thing that was so bizarre that it was impossible not to laugh. I hadn’t told it on television, because every part of it was true, and because I wanted to keep some stories for myself.
“You make war sound almost fun,” she said.
“Nah. War wasn’t fun.” I grinned at her, leaning closer. “Fun is sitting here with you. Fun is imagining your pussy on my mouth.”
“That the kind of fun you like?” she asked, smiling back.
“It is. There’s nothing better than making my wife come over and over.”
“You wouldn’t know,” she said, still smiling, not pulling away.
I moved closer. I could practically smell her, taste her. The kiss came rushing back into my mind, and I knew I wanted it again, had to have it again.
She tilted her head, ever so slightly, her lips parted. Her body language was screaming for me to take her right then and there, to kiss her hard and rough and make her mine.
“Nash Bell?”
I looked up, frowning. Standing next to my stool were two tall, thin blond girls. They looked like models trying to make it in the city, and they would have been my type only a few weeks ago. If they had interrupted me back then, I would have taken them both home and fucked them both until they couldn’t walk straight.