Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
“I was worried about…food contamination,” I continue, feeling my cheeks heat as I continue to pull nonsense out of my ass. “If Pierce is prepping food, he shouldn’t get his um…” I pull in a breath, wishing I could turn back time and think of something, anything less stupid to say. “Shouldn’t get his hands dirty,” I finish in a softer voice as Binx looks at me like I’ve grown a second head that speaks exclusively in pig Latin.
“There’s a sink right there, dude.” Pierce nods to the wall behind Binx as he studies me with an expression that’s both amused and pitying. “And I’m done with the prep anyway. I just have to pull the wieners off the grill.”
“Right, I… Well, that’s good,” I say, wishing I had an excuse to punch him.
I really want to punch him.
So much.
The urge only gets worse when Binx pats his chest with an easy affection and says, “You should do that, Pierce. I’m sure the savages will be hungry for more than chips soon. But take a look at the area I roughed-in when you get the chance. See if that’s big enough. We can always go bigger if you want, but I think this size will give it a nice feeling of movement without showing above your collar when you put on a dress shirt and pretend to be a corporate douchebag.”
“Aw, thanks,” Pierce says, shooting a smirk my way. “But it’s not pretend. I am a corporate douchebag. I’ve already sold three franchises for Chickie Fingers, one of them in Iowa. Pretty soon, I’ll be nationwide.”
“That’s awesome, douchebag, congrats,” she says, summoning a snort of laughter from Pierce as she moves toward me.
“You’re a character, McGuire,” he says to her back.
Or to her ass, rather. As soon as she turned away, he was right back to ogling her like a piece of meat. There’s a way to appreciate a woman’s body without looking like a cartoon wolf drooling over a turkey leg, but Pierce hasn’t mastered the craft. Not even close.
But before I can say something I shouldn’t—again—Binx grabs a fistful of my sweatshirt and mutters, “Come with me. I need to talk to you about something.”
“Yeah, me, too,” I say, glaring at Pierce’s smug ass face one last time before following her outside.
I warn him with my eyeballs that this isn’t over, and that I’m not going to let him sneak into Binx’s affections through the tattoo studio’s back door.
He glares back, his eyeballs telling me that he isn’t going through the back door, he’s going through the front, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Then he makes a gross joke about enjoying “back door action” that makes me want to punch him again.
And yes, I’m aware that eyeballs don’t actually talk, and I’m imagining all of this, but it feels real.
As real as the heat in Binx’s tone as she drags me into the shade by the fence and hisses, “What was that about, Seven?” I pull in a breath, but she cuts me off before I can speak. “If you say anything about contamination, I swear, I’m going to lose it.”
I exhale, knowing better than to try to come up with a lie.
I don’t lie to Binx. At least, I try not to. I withhold sometimes, I evade, but I don’t lie.
“I’m sorry,” I say instead, keeping my voice low. “But I know Pierce. He’s an asshole with zero respect for women.”
Her scowl doesn’t waiver. “Yeah, I know.”
My brows lift. “You know? And you’re still interested?”
“No, I’m not interested.” She rolls her eyes with a huff. “He’s a client, Seven. A client who wants a very large, very pricey tattoo that will keep me in work for months.”
I grunt. “And keep you in close quarters with a man who’s said raunchy, demeaning shit about you behind your back.”
“So?” She folds her arms over her chest. “It wouldn’t be the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. At least this way I’ll be getting paid while he stares at my boobs.”
I prop my hands on my hips, shaking my head. “You don’t understand. Pierce isn’t just your average creep. He’s fucking gross. After you shaved your head, he kept talking about how he wouldn’t have anything to hold onto while he…you know.”
She sighs, still looking spectacularly unimpressed. “While he what? Gave it to me good?”
I shrug uncomfortably. “In a grosser turn of phrase, but yeah. And he said it in the middle of the locker room at the gym, surrounded by people he knows are your friends. He has zero respect for you.”
“I don’t care if he respects me,” she says. “I’m never going to date him. I’m just going to tattoo his skin with permanent ink so he’ll bear the giant mark of the woman who refused to fuck him for the rest of his life.” Her eyes glitter and her lips hook up on one side. “So, who gets the last laugh, Seven? You tell me.”