Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
I texted her and Shepherd as soon as I came up with this night-out plan, asking them to come. Joy because she’s my best friend, Shep because he and Ben already pregamed some chatter about teaming up against Roy, so if push comes to shove, I figured they’d have each other’s back. I’m venturing out, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid. Roy’s got friends in this town, and Deputy West isn’t the only officer on Sheriff Laurier’s squad. Others might not be as gracious.
Shep winces as he firmly states, “My sisters do not have wild sides. They’re virginal angels with tendencies toward being Goody Two-shoes.”
Joy and I lock eyes. Three, two, one . . . We burst out laughing. “Shepherd, if you believe that, I’ve got some oceanfront property to sell you—in the Sahara,” Joy offers. “I’ve got at least fifty shades of wild sides that you don’t know about.”
“Gahhh!” Shep replies in mental anguish, and even Ben laughs at my brother for that one.
“We might not be as bad as you, and I might not be as bad as Joy, but would a Goody Two-shoes run away from her wedding?” I add, laughing at his assumption. Admittedly, I’ve been as boring as toasted white bread for most of my life. But that’s changing. And even as bland as I’ve been, I’m not a virgin, nor an angel, especially given the thoughts I’ve been having lately about Ben.
Like him kissing me again. My lips, my neck, my breasts, my thighs, my clit. Oh God! Something tells me he would be great at kissing that particular sensitive spot. It’s something Roy never did. Even imagining it sends heat pooling low, and I clench my thighs, looking for some relief.
Whoo, they need to turn the air-conditioning on in here!
Shep shakes his head, sulking. “Fine, you don’t have to be that innocent, but I don’t want to hear about it. La-la-la . . .” He puts his fingers in his ears and squinches his eyes closed like he’s five.
Joy snorts. “Glad to know we have your permission to whore it up, big brother. As if I needed it in the first place.”
My brother groans when she says whore as if it actually pains him, and I can’t help but laugh. It feels good to banter and chat like this, like my current situation isn’t a TV soap opera script.
Brooklin reappears with our two beers, and Joy orders two more. “Both of those for you?” she questions Joy, who says, “Yep” with a withering glare I wish I could copy. Maybe I’ll have her teach me. When Brooklin turns her attention to Shep, her whole demeanor changes like someone flipped a switch in her brain. Or more likely, her panties. “Heyyy, Shepherd. Anything I can getcha?” I’m pretty sure she means is there anything she can do for him. Like maybe on her knees in the bathroom. Blech!
Shepherd’s a local celebrity since he plays hockey for our minor-league team, and as such, there are ice bunnies who throw themselves at him everywhere he goes. Whether he goes along with their pushy advances or not, I’ve never asked. I guess I prefer being in the dark about his sex life, too, though I’d never go so far as to assume he’s an innocent Goody Two-shoes.
I’m curious as a cat to see how he responds to the waitress. She’s gorgeous, even after hours of slinging beers and burgers, and certainly down to play tonsil hockey at a minimum, but she’s also being a pretty obvious bitch to Joy and me, and I don’t think that’ll help her fare well with our overprotective brother.
“No, I’ll steal one of Joy’s beers,” he tells Brooklin and then blatantly turns his attention back to us, effectively rejecting her without saying No way, never, ever, be gone, THOT. I kinda wish he’d said it aloud, though, bitchy as that might be. “Ben, who’s your hockey team?”
Ben looks Shepherd right in his eyes and proclaims with zero hesitation, “I know less than fuck all about it, so I don’t have one.”
Shiiit. Those are fighting words, as far as my brother’s concerned, so I snuggle up to Ben’s side to remind Shep not to kill him. I like Ben and don’t want his death to be over something stupid like hockey.
“What?” Shep laughs in disbelief. “Everyone’s got a team.”
Ben shrugs. “The Ice Sloths?”
Shep sputters but somehow doesn’t seem offended. “Is that an Ice Age joke? You really don’t have a team?”
Well, now I know what we’ll be talking about all night, because Shepherd will take it as his personal mission to indoctrinate Ben into the crazy obsession known as ice hockey. At least it’s a welcome distraction from the curious looks coming our way from all over the bar.
I try to ignore them, staying tucked into Ben’s side and sipping my beer, occasionally meeting Joy’s eyes and silently asking, What do you think? Her easy smile says she likes Ben, and the twin-lepathy between us reminds me that she thinks I should rebound good and hard and fast . . . on Ben’s dick.