Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Shutting my eyes, I allow myself to get lost in the momentary numbness.
Damn, it feels so good to be empty.
To just not care.
Unexpectedly, he pulls me closer by the curve of my ass and states near my ear, “Brandon.”
“Presley.”
Opening my eyes to get another look at the guy who resembles a more attractive Ashton Kutcher, I also witness Blaze’s face that’s wound so tight I wanna pop it to watch him fly around the room like a balloon animal.
He thought he could make a fucking joke out of me?
I deserve better!
Fuck that, I am better!
He’s offered a narrowed gaze prior to me looking back at Brandon and pressing my boobs tighter to his chest. His hard on that’s still thumping, still eager to see more or have more of me, reminds me that I am sexy.
That I can have any guy I fucking want.
Whenever I want.
Finally winding down from the buzz of my last shots, or so it feels, I slowly stop dancing.
Brandon, who is getting more adorable with each passing blink, sweetly asks, “Can I get you another drink, beautiful?”
“How about another shot?”
“I can do that,” he answers, leading me back towards the kitchen by the hand.
With a glance over my shoulder, I tilt my head for Carmen to make herself that way, too. Blaze – who is still at her side for some fucking reason – decides to follow.
He shouldn’t.
There’s nothing in here for him or his out-of-date rhymes.
Seriously, who raps, make out and fall out?
That’s not even trying!
Thankful that there’s empty room on the island counter, I hop myself up with a little help from Brandon. Grabbing a lime from the cutting board beside me, I prepare myself for the tequila I know that’s coming.
“Here you are,” he smiles hopping onto the counter beside me as Carmen leans on a nearby wall, pride painted on her face.
Unfortunately for me, I don’t get to enjoy it due to Bambi and Ry walking back into the room.
Goddamn.
I don’t wanna be anywhere near him or her for that matter.
All the people that annoy me in one room makes me feel like I need a double instead of a single, and just as I prepare to ask for it, Bambi places her hand on her hip, clearly ready to go for another round. “Aren’t you a little too fat to be on the counter?”
Looking her up and down, I’m a little surprised when the whole room turns to hear my comeback. It’s strange, but there’s a special tingle from having an audience. I like it. Might as well use them to my advantage. Didn’t think I would, but I do.
I keep my stare pinned on her while I playfully call out, “Um…Linus, sweetie…You forgot to take the trash out.”
The crowd laughs.
Impressively loud.
Brandon and I clink our glasses together before we down the shots.
As I suck the juice from the lime, she snips, “No matter how much you drink, no one thinks you get any prettier.”
“And no matter how much coke you snort, you don’t get any thinner.”
More laughter instantly erupts.
I logically know it’s too far.
Too much.
That I shouldn’t throw those types of secrets around like confetti because that’s not who I am.
But you know what?
For just a few hours…that’s who the fuck I’m gonna be.
She doesn’t wait until the snickers and giggles die to look up at our shared significant other and pout, “Ohmygod, Collins, say something!”
“Yeah, Collins,” I openly mock her, bitterness from being lied to by him as well, making an ugly unexpected appearance. “Say something. Defend your poodle before she pees all over Linus’s expensive marble.”
His eyes are screaming that he doesn’t wanna do that.
That he doesn’t wanna get into this.
That he doesn’t wanna go toe-to-toe, especially not openly with an audience.
Too bad that I’m too drunk to give a fuck what he wants.
Too bad that what I wanted – honesty – he ignored.
I watch his Adam's apple nervously bob in a silent begging motion for me to let it go. His blue eyes that less than twenty-four-hours ago promised to love me until we were old and senile, are now completely glazed over, although I’m not sure if it's from drugs, alcohol, or sadness.
What I do know?
That I don’t care.
“She’s just jealous, babe, that she’ll never be as good as you at anything.” The sexual indication is front and center.
“You’re probably right, Collins.” I nod at the same time I toss my lime in the sink. “It’s hard to beat a pro.”
New laughter ripples through the room.
“However,” my finger lifts in dramatic nature, “I’d like to applaud her for her efforts at being the best of the best because a blowjob, ladies and gents, is still a job, and still requires putting in the hours.” When the crowd howls again in amusement, I swipe up another Jell-O shot from the tray that's within reach and raise it. “Let’s raise a toast that’s dedicated to the working-class trash.”