Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 167257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 836(@200wpm)___ 669(@250wpm)___ 558(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 836(@200wpm)___ 669(@250wpm)___ 558(@300wpm)
Oh, wow.
“Just be glad you lived to tell the tale, old man. I can count on one hand and have four fingers left at how many can.”
I rolled my eyes even though I knew it to be true. Rowdy didn’t seem like the type to pull his gun out unless he meant it. He was lethal enough all on his own.
Once the papers were signed and hands were shaken, Rowdy escorted me from the building with a hand on my back, and I loathed how good it felt. When we reached his car, he opened my door for me and helped me in before hopping into the driver’s seat and peeling off.
It was safe to say that this man perplexed me.
How could he be so brutal one moment and then tender the next? It didn’t make any sense. Was he fighting a part of himself that wanted to treat me the way I deserved, or was I just searching for crumbs to justify my attraction?
As if my private thoughts were an open book, his voice broke the quiet chaos happening within me. “You mad?”
A scoff was my only answer.
Rowdy was many terrible things—reckless, violent, vicious—but dumb wasn’t one of them. It was funny how none of his traits scared me as much as his intelligence—and just how much he saw through me.
I stared straight ahead, pretending not to flinch when his hand traveled a little too close to my thigh. I died a little foolish death when all he did was grab his phone from the cupholder. I was expecting him to make a call and tune me out until the ride was over, but no.
Miguel’s “Sure Thing” filled the car and I found myself blushing as I listened to lyrics I knew by heart. It was one of my favorite songs, and I’d sing it every day no matter where I was or who was around. I knew I’d sung them more than once around the shop—and probably within earshot of Rowdy.
I was caught even more off guard when Rowdy started singing the lyrics…to me.
“Stop!” I squealed when he stopped at the red light and pinched my cheek. I was grinning and blushing so hard now that I thought my face would break. When he grabbed my hand on cue, I was done for as Rowdy became animated and made a fool of himself…for me.
Miguel, he was not, but he could at least carry a tune.
“I didn’t know you listened to him,” I said as soon as the song ended.
“I don’t. I heard you screeching this shit every day, so I finally downloaded it to hear how it actually went without the sound of dying sheep as backup.”
My jaw dropped in silent outrage. “I do not screech.” He sent me a look. “I sounded better than you!” His lips twisted as if to say, “Yeah, right,” and I couldn’t help but laugh. “Fuck you, Owen, okay?” I chuckled, and he did the same. “So, what’s your favorite song?” I asked him as I admired his profile. He had the longest lashes and his lips…my God.
“The sound of you coming.”
“I’m serious, Owen.”
“So am I, Dream.”
I decided to let it go since I had the feeling his answer wouldn’t change. “Okay, so who’s your favorite artist?”
“Nip.”
Paying no mind to his one-word responses, I shouted, “I knew it!”
When he glanced at me and caught me grinning in victory, he shook his head and returned his attention to the road with his lips quirked. “You so damn corny.”
“So.” I was still smiling as I thought of another question to ask. “So, is your favorite color blue or green?”
“Green. The color of money.”
I rolled my eyes at that. “What’s your favorite thing to eat and please don’t say my pussy.”
“So what you ask me for?” he said as he mugged me. “You want me to lie to you?”
I sighed. “I want you to be realistic. There’s only of one us you’ll ever have again, and spoiler alert, it’s not me.”
“You should take your own advice,” he said as he pulled into a busy parking lot and shut off the engine. I took a moment to look around and figure out where the hell he’d taken me now. It wasn’t the shop or the motel. It was—
“Where are we?” I looked up at the white net that stretched toward the sky. It enclosed the fake green grass with huge glowing rings spaced apart to cover most of the field and kept the flying golf balls from escaping, landing either within the different colored rings or the grass instead.
“Top Golf.”
“You play golf?” I uttered incredulously. Being a secret Miguel fanboy, I could see. This? No. Not in a million years.
“You so fucking rude,” he had the nerve to say. I’d never met anyone more insensitive than Owen Wray. “I could wear them tight-ass booty shorts and play golf if I wanted to. Ever heard of Tiger Woods?” He was frowning now, making my heart skip a beat.