Total pages in book: 181
Estimated words: 177690 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 888(@200wpm)___ 711(@250wpm)___ 592(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177690 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 888(@200wpm)___ 711(@250wpm)___ 592(@300wpm)
“Oh my goodness,” she cries, as if she’s almost in the throes of an orgasm. “I just can’t get over how big and powerful it is.”
I’m almost laughing my ass off, when recognition slams into me.
I know that voice—as in I know it biblically.
Fucking hell… that’s my wife up there flirting with those damn men and causing a traffic jam as thick as LA rush hour.
My decision is made.
I’m going to throttle her.
seven
faith
“Oh my goodness,” I tell Leroy, making sure I sound like I’m way too excited. “I just can’t get over how big and powerful it is.”
I’m going to hell. I know it. Shit, at this point I’m probably going to drive the bus. When Joe started this a week ago, I thought about quitting. There was one fringe benefit to freezing my ass off, however, that I didn’t count on.
I am freaking rolling in the tips. When I say that, I mean that today starts week two. Last week I made two hundred and fifty dollars cash from Joe for five days. I made over a thousand in tips. Over three hundred of that came from old Leroy himself. Today he’s been here three times already and I’ve pocketed well over two hundred from him alone. I think that means week two is shaping up to beat last week. At this rate, I’ll have money in the bank by the time I leave Buck-Stop behind.
That’s if I don’t die from the flu. I’m freezing. The only saving grace that I have is that with the bikini top covered in studs and sparkly like it is, you can’t tell my nipples are about to poke through the damn fabric.
“Damn, Faith, I forgot. I’m going to need you to fill up the wiper fluid too,” Leroy says.
“Didn’t I just fill that up for you yesterday, Leroy?”
“What can I say, baby? I like to make things wet,” he says and I giggle—when I want to roll my eyes.
“You’re so bad,” I laugh, wondering if they can tell how fake it is. I pick up the jug of wiper fluid that I keep stacked up by the pump—I stacked thirty bottles here before the place opened this morning and after this one there will only be five left. Men are so damn predictable. Then I turn around—giving them the view they want, which is my ass bent over as I lean over their truck to get to the wiper fluid thing-a-ma-du-ma-fla-jit. I could reach it without bending over, but my tips are nowhere as good.
“You take good care of me, Faith.”
“You might want to get your tank checked, Leroy. It’s completely empty. I don’t understand it,” I tell him, playing stupid.
“You should let me take you away from all of this, Faith. Let me take care of you,” he says, and he’s moved in close behind me.
That’s nothing new. He’s been working up the courage to get bolder and bolder. Leroy is older. Probably in his mid-fifties. He’s not bad looking for his age, but even if I hadn’t sworn off men until the next century—totally not my type. I glance at the wedding ring I’m wearing and frown. Come to think of it, I don’t really have a good track record with “my type.”
I finish pouring in the fluid when old Leroy gets up his nerve and slaps his hand on my right ass cheek. It stings and I cry out in surprise. He then proceeds to squeeze it tightly. I’m about to knee him in the balls when I hear a voice I honestly didn’t want to hear again.
“Old man, if you want to keep that hand you better get it off my woman’s ass.”
Titan.
Crap. I bite down on my lip and try to get up my courage and then carefully turn around with a smile on my face, like I don’t have a care in the world.
“Hi, Big Daddy.”
eight
titan
I’m pissed as hell as I storm around the vehicles to get to the woman who has been doing nothing but giving me a headache, haunting my dreams, and generally making my life a living hell the last few weeks. I’m all set to light into her, but one thing stops me.
I look down and see that damn man’s hand on her. He’s got his hand on her ass. His fingers are stretched across one juicy cheek and digging in enough that you can see the outline of his fingers as they bite into her soft skin. His hand looks wrong on her. It’s older, weathered and has tinges of oil here and there. That’s not it. That’s not what I don’t like about it. What I don’t like most about it is that it’s not mine. That makes zero sense, but it’s definitely true.
Then, the damn woman turns around as pretty as you please, leans back against the old truck like she doesn’t have a care in the world, and taunts me.