Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
Should I get the fuck out of here and deal with Remy tomorrow when I’m not shaking with rage?
My feet are already moving toward the front door before I make up my mind. I grab my sneakers and jam them on.
“Where you going, bro?” Remy shouts.
I stomp into the archway between the hall and the living room to glare at him. “Home, asshole.”
“More for me!” Remy’s words and laughter follow me out the door.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Griff
The next morning when Remy opens the front door, his face has never looked so fucking punchable.
“Morning,” he rasps. “Why’re you here so early?”
“We need to talk.”
He stares at me, then takes a step back. “What are you, a vampire waiting for a fucking invitation?” He opens the door wider.
I step inside and close the door behind me. Except for the faint scent of coffee, the house seems perfectly still. “Your fan club still here?”
“Nah.” He waves his hand in the air and takes a sip of the coffee in his mug. His gaze drops to my empty hands. “What? No muffins today?”
“Busy Beans isn’t open this early.”
He yawns, loud and obnoxiously, blowing his rancid morning breath in my direction. “You should’ve just spent the night if you were going to be waking me up this early.” He yawns again.
“Stop breathing on me, fucker.” I wave my hand in the air. “I don’t know if I should give you a breath mint or toilet paper.”
He, of course, exhales in my face.
I shove him away and gesture to the mug in his hands. “Obviously you’ve been up long enough to make coffee, jackass.” Anger from last night still simmers in my blood and I can’t keep it out of my voice.
“Christ, settle down,” he grumbles. “Maybe if you’d let Layla blow you, you wouldn’t be so fucking grumpy today.”
“Stop being such a dick.” I slept like shit. Sent Molly a bunch of texts when I got home, and she ignored every single one.
“What’s got you so pressed, Royal?” He turns and lazily swaggers toward the kitchen, and I follow.
All night long I worked out what I wanted to say. How to phrase it so he’d understand Molly’s not a hookup. What we have is real. Serious. And most importantly, I’m not asking for his permission to date his sister. This is a courtesy conversation to give him some information and that’s all.
In the kitchen, he stops next to the coffeepot and sets his mug on the counter.
“I need to talk to you about something,” I say.
Remy turns and raises an eyebrow. “You said that already.” He rolls his hand through the air in a get-on-with-it gesture and leans against the counter. “Speak.”
I take a deep breath and look him dead in the eyes. “Don’t ever pull a stunt like last night again.”
He lifts one cocky eyebrow. “What stunt?”
Is that genuine confusion or is he fucking with me?
Fuck, I’m tired of dicking around about my feelings for Molly. I’m tired of making excuses for why I don’t want to fuck random girls after the fights and why I avoid the muffler bunnies who hang around the motorcycle clubs we’ve partied with.
Remy’s my best friend. Even if I’m pissed with him for last night, he doesn’t know why. So even if he uses those steel hammers he calls fists to beat the daylights out of me, he deserves the truth.
“Last night with the girls,” I say in a calmer tone. “Don’t ever spring something on me like that again. It wasn’t cool that you did that in front of Molly.”
Now he’s on the alert. His eyes narrow, and he cocks his head. “What do you mean?” He says each word with slow deliberation.
Here we go. “I don’t want you insinuating that I hook up with random girls in front of your sister.”
He scratches the side of his head, like a cartoon character suffering from a case of confusion. A smirk twitches at the corners of his looking-more-punchable-by-the-second mouth. “I don’t understand,” he says, as slow as someone who just got kicked in the head by a donkey. “What’s my sister have to do with anything?”
“Come on, Remy.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “No, explain it to me like I’m five. Why don’t you want my sister seeing you with other women? I can’t possibly understand the problem.”
This motherfucker. He knows. He fucking knows. “You sure you’re ready to hear this, bro?”
“Oh, I’m dying to hear it, bro,” he fires back with an extra dose of sarcasm.
“I want to be with Molly.” I tap my chest. “No one else.”
The amusement slides off his face and something a lot more deadly takes its place. He didn’t end up with the ring name Ruthless by accident.
“You want to be with her?” He takes a step forward. “My sister.”
“Yes.”
“You and Molly?” Another step forward. “My little sister, Molly.”