Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“But with a good, strong bite,” I said, getting a smile out of him, one that crinkled his eyes in an appealing way.
I could maybe see myself being interested in him. If I let myself. Which I wouldn’t. Because this was about Lottie and her friends, not me. I could surely find a man to fuck if that was what I was after. I just much preferred my own company these days. On the rare occasion that I got to enjoy that.
Because if it wasn’t hitting the bar with Lottie, it was going shopping, or the salon, or out to lunch.
Lottie was a people person to the core.
And I was her favorite person.
So she was forever pulling me along with her. Sometimes kicking and screaming, bemoaning the need to be out in the world, amongst the other people. When we could paint our nails in my apartment where we wouldn’t come across them.
“If you’re worried about the look of those guys, they’re decent,” the bartender said, nodding over toward the group of men in those leather vest things that I didn’t know the name of, but I knew they belonged to guys who rode motorcycles and had lots of tattoos.
At my raised brow, he chuckled.
“Don’t get me wrong, they’re looking for a fuck. But they’re good men. Don’t gotta worry about little sis getting hurt.”
I would be the judge of that, but I kept my mouth closed.
“Toll,” the bartender said, pronouncing it Ta-hl. “Short for Tolliver,” he explained at my drawn-together brows.
“Interesting name. Lexy,” I said, pointing to myself. “Short for Alexandra. That’s Lottie,” I said, looking at my sister as she threw her head back to laugh, drawing the attention of every man in the bar. She was magnetic like that. “Short for Charlotte,” I said. “So, you know these guys, it seems. What will my sister be dragging me to after this?”
“The clubhouse,” Toll said.
“Clubhouse?”
“They’re bikers. Bikers have clubhouses.”
“And in those clubhouses…”
“Lots of drinking and fucking,” he said with that little smirk again. “Innocent enough. They just put in a pool, so I imagine that is what will happen next.”
Great.
Alcohol and a pool.
Always a fantastic combination.
“Can I have a soda?” I asked, pushing my drink away.
“We got energy drinks,” he said, picking up on how long of a night this was going to be.
“Thank God,” I said, accepting it and sipping as the girls got chummy with the bikers.
As Toll predicted, Lottie came skipping up to me, gushing about going swimming with the bikers.
“But you don’t have a bathing suit,” was my genius objection. Because I knew lectures about the dangers of drinking and swimming would be lost on her.
“Um, we live twenty minutes from the beach,” Lottie said, shaking her head. “I always have a suit on me.”
As it turned out, not only did she have a suit in her purse, but so did two of her friends. The third claimed her underwear was as good as a suit.
Then, just like that, we were following these random bikers down the road and toward a fenced-off property with a long, low building situated on it. There were newer additions to the clearly dated original building, one massive structure off the back, and some glass room on the roof.
We were led inside where two men were having a drink in front of the TV. One, tall, fit, and handsome with dark hair and a dark beard and lots of tats. The other, almost as tall, though not quite as jacked, with deep skin, and a resigned look as he looked from the guys to the girls who were holding their bathing suits they planned to change into.
Sure enough, that guy moved outside with the rest of us, perching on top of a picnic table, and keeping an eye on the goings-on. Not, though, in a creepy way. Almost in a fatherly way, wanting to make sure everyone was being safe and not drowning.
His presence alone had me relaxing.
At least I wouldn’t have to worry about one of the girls drowning.
As the hours stretched on and sleep started to weigh heavily on my eyes, I was debating calling a ride-share to take me home.
Why had I allowed Lottie to talk me into letting her drive to the bar? Where her car would sit until she was sober again in the morning. And where it was useless to me.
As one of the girls from the bar got caught and tossed over the shoulder of the Golden Retriever guy whose name I caught as Sully, she let out a scream that had even me wincing and looking around.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one startled by that sound, though.
Because a moment later, as she screamed as she was tossed into the pool, the back door to the clubhouse flew open.
And there was another biker.