Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 58840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
“You said you lived in Charlotte.”
“I said I was from Charlotte,” I tell her.
“I thought you were a tourist. Why didn’t you tell me you were hired here? You said you were a personal trainer.”
“That’s true, too. I didn’t lie to you. Meanwhile, you were rushing to work early this morning.” I glance at my watch for effect. “Been here for ten hours already?”
She’s shuffling papers out from behind the counter, and she appears to be setting up for opening, not packing up to go home.
“Maybe I have. That’s none of your business.” She bangs a box of flyers onto the counter, making her tits jiggle. “Anyway, the only thing that matters is that you don’t say a word about last night. Or this morning.”
My traitorous dick twitches, and the corners of my lips do, too. “What happens if I do?” I don’t plan to say anything, of course, but the idea is clearly upsetting to her, so it might be fun to let her worry.
“What happens is that you would be let go. It’s a conflict. Against the rules. And I have seniority, so …” Her voice trails off, her point made, and she’s probably right. The Stantons are not going to want to know that two of the people they’re sending out on tour have banged. And want to bang some more, my dick adds, unhelpfully.
“The club has a strict policy. No relationships.”
I interrupt her, because I’ve realized she’s even sexier when she’s angry. Her skin is turning pink the way it did last night after I pulled her shirt off. “Relationship? You’re moving pretty fast there, don’t you think?” I tease.
Her nostrils flare, and I’d bet money that her nipples are getting hard. My eyes drop down to check.
“We’ll be keeping things entirely professional between us,” she says, speaking through a clenched jaw. “Last night never happened, and nothing will ever happen between us again.”
I lean against the counter, taking my time bringing my eyes back to her face as I survey her curves and wish she wasn’t so appealing. Finally, I give her a cocky grin and a quick wink. “That’s fine for me, but you know you’re going to want me again. When you do, I’ll be sure to tell you no.”
7
BRITTANY
Our driver goes by the name of Toad, which makes me curious, because there doesn’t seem to be anything toad-like about her.
“How did you get that name?” I ask after Maddox introduces us.
The older woman shrugs. “I like toads. I collect things with toads on them, and people started calling me that.”
“Sounds good to me,” I say, giving her a smile.
From a distance, she’s a tough-looking woman, but up close, her eyes are kind, and I get a good vibe from her. She’s been driving tour buses professionally for over twenty years, she tells me, so our little tour is going to be a walk in the park for her.
I’m not sure what I was expecting for our tour bus, but it wasn’t this. When I first see it, I’m surprised by how small it is.
It’s not much bigger than a standard delivery van, and I’m concerned about spending hours upon hours in such close quarters with four men who I just know are going to drive me to drink, but when Maddox slides opens the door and I enter the vehicle, I’m stunned by the luxury I find inside.
Everything is immaculate, all clean, modern lines and white elegance. It’s fitted with six large individual reclining chairs in the back that look like you could easily and comfortably spend a day in them without complaints. Each seat has lush padded headrests, wide armrests that contain various touch-screen controls, and tray tables.
The van has a large video screen at the front of the cabin, a built-in cooler, and solid panels that can be lowered to cover the tall windows on each side if we want to shut out the light for sleeping while on the road.
“And check this out,” Maddox says, sounding like a kid with a toy. He presses buttons on a remote, and the lights in the van go dim before the interior turns red, then blue, then green, then purple with concealed lights.
I glance at Toad, who looks amused. “That will be great when we want to put on roadside shows right here in the van,” I say.
Maddox laughs. “You could, couldn’t you?” He turns the lighting off and clicks on some soft background music.
“This is the nicest ride I’ve ever driven,” Toad says as she checks out her front seat, which could be better described as a cockpit with all of the dashboard’s fancy controls.
While Maddox talks with her up front, I sink down into one of the seats, which seems to cradle me in its arms like a comforting parent. This vehicle is nicer than my apartment.