Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
"I'm gonna take it that you come from money, huh?" he asked.
"Yeah. Something like that. I mean, sort of. I can explain it more later, I guess."
"Does Jones catch shit?" he asked. "You'll have a problem with your makeup how you like it, and dressing how you want and showing up on a bike, but he can be there with his hair like that and the ink and the piercings, and that's okay?"
"You're going to notice a lot of double-standards today, Huck. And most of them actually don't have to do with me being a girl. It has to do with me not being one of them."
"It's your step-family."
"Yeah. No actual blood relation. And they don't exactly try to make me feel like I am part of the family, either."
"Then why the fuck bother to go?"
"I think you will understand more once we are there," I suggested, stomach getting tight and wobbly just thinking about it. I didn't want to dredge anything else up before the actual event.
"Alright. I'll let it drop for now. Why don't you get that hideous fucking dress on?" he suggested, sharing a smile with me in the mirror before his suddenly fell, and his gaze was deep, intense, as he leaned down a bit, lips close to my ear while his gaze held mine in the mirror. "Otherwise, I might pull off these panties and fuck you right here, and we'd miss the whole party completely," he said, smirking when he got the reaction he wanted out of me.
He stepped back, slapping my ass hard once, then walking out of the bathroom, leaving me alone to finish getting dressed, and try to convince myself that the flush I felt was because it was hot, and not because of the heated look—and the even more scorching words—he'd given me.
Fifteen minutes later, I was in my ugly, uncomfortable dress, feet in strappy heeled sandals, standing in the driveway with the sun beating down on me, making sweat bead up immediately, making me start to hope the bike thing worked because the idea of walking around in the heat sounded downright miserable.
"Ready?" Huck asked, standing beside his bike that, up close, looked a lot bigger than I'd expected.
"I guess we will see," I said, suddenly wishing I'd doubled up my dose of my CBD oil, knowing that it likely would have calmed me down more. But it was too late for that now.
"Alright, just get on behind me and scoot forward," he demanded, reaching to hand me a helmet that was likely going to undo the work I'd put in to perfectly styling my hair. If this worked, we would show up early enough for me to stop to tame it again before we showed up at my grandmother's place.
"Alright," I agreed, taking a deep breath, checking behind to make sure no one was watching, then lifting my leg over the bike while trying to keep my skirt at least halfway covering my underwear.
Huck was right. And wrong.
It was like a bike-bike, but also completely different. It was more sturdy, more secure-feeling.
"Babe, scoot," Huck demanded, making me realize I had been stubbornly trying to keep my body from touching his.
But there was no way to sit back once he got moving. Sighing out my breath, I slid up against him, feeling my thighs meet the sides of his thighs, my crotch nestled right against his ass, and my chest pressed to his back.
"See? Already better than walking," he said in a light, teasing tone. "Arms around me too, babe," he demanded.
My hands moved out toward his sides, gliding over his ribs, wrapping around his chest. I swear it took actual effort for me not to lean forward, to rest the side of my head against his strong shoulders.
"Ready?" he asked.
"We'll see," I said, legs and arms tightening around him.
"If you need me to stop, just grab my leg, okay?" he said, turning the bike over.
"Okay," I agreed, heart starting to trip into overdrive.
My stomach felt like it bottomed out when the bike surged forward, but after the initial discomfort of unfamiliarity, I realized that I didn't feel like I was choking; my mind wasn't racing off to old, horrific memories.
I wasn't having a panic attack.
Huck drove us up and down the driveway a few times before pulling out onto the road, picking up speed.
I must have tensed, because Huck's hand left the handlebar, going down to rest on my thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze, something that made the tight grip on my heart loosen, allowed me to sink into the sensations as we drove down the street that was only vaguely familiar to me since I'd only traveled down it twice since moving in.
In the time that it would have taken me to walk to the train station, we were already pulling into Miami, the automobiles and foot traffic announcing themselves loudly, making me long for the long, quiet roads.