Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
The guy is sexy and definitely rocking a blue-collar vibe. He’s hot, I can admit that, but the guy standing behind him is the one that catches my eye. Maybe he does because he’s not staring at Gabby like she’s a juicy steak he wants to eat. No, he’s staring straight at me, his blue eyes boring into me. The other guy might be hot, but this guy? He is off the charts.
He’s got soft honey-brown hair that’s a little too long, but not so long that you can’t tell he gets it cut semi-regularly. Right now, the wind is blowing, and it floats around his face with the breeze. He has an army green Henley on that is long sleeved. His arms and hands are covered in tattoos. The ink disappear under his sleeves. He’s definitely hot and he’s trouble, especially with the way he keeps his gaze trained on me, smoldering intensity and all, makes me feel alive.
Which is bad.
The last guy to do that, was so bent on destroying my father, he nearly destroyed me. I’m done with guys in general.
“Hello?” Gabby says, and I hide my grin. She’s used to guys hitting on her and this one she’s apparently decided to play cool and indifferent with. It was probably a good call, because I can even see the surprise that flashes over the guys face.
“I saw you sitting over here, and I have to say you are a nine baby.”
“A nine?” she murmurs, as if she’s considering the number. “Just a nine? That’s disappointing. Maybe you’ll find someone better at a different table—or maybe even a different restaurant,” she tells him with a saccharine smile. I let out a snort, looking down at the table. When I look up tall, dark and broody is staring at me. I shift uncomfortably in my seat.
“Why baby? I’m the one that you need to make a perfect ten.”
“Oh Lord Jesus help us from corny pickup lines,” I mutter.
“You don’t like my lines?” the man asks.
“They’re overdone.” The guy that’s been staring a hole through me grunts in what, oddly enough, I think might be humor and even though I know I shouldn’t, I turn my attention back to him. “What’s your name?” I ask him. It doesn’t truly surprise me for some reason when he doesn’t answer. “What’s your friend’s damage?” I ask the guy with him.
“Grunt,” he answers. “He’s the quiet shy type.”
“Yeah, right,” I mutter.
“You don’t believe me?” he asks with a smirk. He has a nice smile, but he’s clearly a player. Gabby needs to get back out there, but not with this guy.
“I try never to trust a man who tries to pick up a woman with cheesy lines,” I respond shrugging helplessly.
“I should at least get an A for effort,” he reasons.
“Don’t know if you know this or not stud, but I’m not sure a man should strive to get an A in effort.”
“You’d rather he not even try?” the guy asks. I look at Mr. Broody as I consider his question.
“I’d rather he gets an A in delivery,” I finally respond. The man I’m staring at still doesn’t talk, but I catch the slight arc of his eyebrow with my answer and the way his lips twitch. Too bad I’ve sworn off men, because I get the feeling he’d be a fun bull to try and wrangle…
3
Grunt
“You better have a damn good reason as to why you didn’t bring the girl here, motherfuckers,” Ford rages.
“We made contact, Prez, man,” Jonesy mutters.
“Then why in the fuck isn’t she here?” Ford growls.
“I know you want this shit fixed soon, man, but we have to tread carefully here.”
“I want this fucker’s head on a pike. The best way to do that is to get this damn girl here—”
“Prez, the DC’s have never been about hurting women, despite our reputation. Do you truly think this is the best way to go here?” I try to reason. I know it’s not going to help when Ford just stares at me like I’ve lost my fucking mind.
“If you two lazy fucks can’t carry this out, I’ll get Hog and we’ll do it. Jesus I expect this shit from Jonesy, Grunt, but when did you get so damn soft?”
I snort at his insinuation. I’m not fucking soft. I’m being smart, which is something he’s not being and hasn’t since Lyla has been grieving this loser ex-boyfriend of hers.
“We’ll get her, Prez. Give us a week. We need to do it in a way that suspicions aren’t arose. You don’t want the whole fucking Blaze club on our ass, do you?”
“No, I don’t. I know you’re right. But, hell man, she’s grieving over this asshole. How did I miss the fact she had some worthless prick in her life?”
“You still don’t have any information on him?”