Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“Fuck,” I groaned. “I’m shit with my left hand.”
“Trust me, I am too.”
“I doubt that,” I said, reaching out to squeeze his bicep. “You work in construction. Your whole body is built to work.”
He looked down at where I’d squeezed him and then shrugged one shoulder. “You scared?”
Adrenaline surged through me.
Shit. I liked Little Wood talking to me like that.
“Fine. But I’m going to watch you,” I said, taking a step forward and body blocking the side of the machine. “You’re not rolling up anywhere near this edge.”
My body was close to his now, both of us huddled near the Skee-Ball table. The more whiskey Shawn had tonight, the more willing he seemed to maintain eye contact with me, and now he was looking at me with a challenge in his eyes, not backing down.
“You can stand there all you want,” he said, “but I’m not switching up my technique.”
I nodded at him, watching as he got into his stance, just inches away from me. He wound up and then tossed the ball, leaning to the side and brushing up against me slightly as he threw it.
“Boom,” he said. “Fifty pointer. See if you can beat that.”
“You bet your ass I’m going to beat that,” I said. As I went to line up my throw he swapped spots with me, watching. I did one, two, three practice swings and then let it roll.
And much to my disappointment, I watched as the ball launched right into the forty-point slot.
Shawn was raising his arms in the air in a victory stance, and he did a little spin in place. “There we have it,” he said.
“Damn. Is this what you’ve been doing all this time I’ve been gone?”
“What, practicing Skee-Ball? Can’t say I have.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“All I’ve been doing while you’ve been gone is working, working, and then working more on the weekends.”
“Sounds like you need some fun.”
“Maybe I do,” he offered, a sweet look on his face that caught me off guard.
Cute. Way too cute.
“You are the rightful winner,” I conceded. “But you still cheated on that side-throw last time.”
“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” he asked.
A bunch of ideas came to my mind of how I could answer his question.
No, I’m not going to let you live it down. How would you like to be punished?
Take me home and let me suck you off and then we’ll see.
Show me what else you’ve gotten really good at, Shawn Wood.
I shrugged one shoulder. “We’ll see. Maybe I’ll be feeling nice one day and let you have it.”
“Come here,” I said, leading him back over to the bar. I picked up the bottle of Chicken Cock, shaking it to show how little of it was left now. “Finish this off with me.”
Shawn held up his glass. “I’m obviously not going home with anybody tonight, anyway, so I could use the nightcap.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” I said as I poured us both the last of it. “Those guys in the corner booth look like they might be interested.”
He rolled his eyes. “Not for me.”
I turned my head to one side. “I thought you were super desperate.”
“And this is why I hate when Nathan says I’m in a dry spell,” he protested. “I’m not desperate. I mean it, they’re just not my type.”
“So what’s your type, then?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Nobody in this bar, that’s for sure.”
“Damn, touché,” I said. “Well, you’re not my type either, Shawn.”
His eyes went wide. “What? I wasn’t talking about you, obviously—that’s not even possible.”
I hummed, picking up my glass of whiskey and taking a drink. Watching him squirm a little and get a slight blush on his cheeks was way too much fun.
“I’m messing with you. You know that, right?”
He glanced at my lips, then back up to my eyes. “What do you mean, I’m not your type? You’re the one who told me I looked good earlier tonight. Was that all just part of the schmoozy Rush bartender act?”
“You’re not my type because you’re the kind of guy who desperately wants to fall in love,” I told him, pinning him with my gaze. “And that ain’t me.”
I watched his expression smolder for a moment before he replied. “You don’t know me at all,” he said.
“Oh yeah?” I asked. “Am I wrong? You want to fuck without feelings? Take somebody home and then never say their name again?”
“No, because I’m not an asshole,” he challenged me. “But sure. Yeah. I’ve been looking for casual sex, if you want the truth.”
“Hey,” I said. “Just to get something straight. I have been with a lot of people, yes. But I remember every single one of them, and I cared about every single one of them, too. I know how to show someone a really good time, even if it’s just for one night. Got it?”