Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
His gruff tone once again vibrates through me when he says, “Need a drink.”
Another sigh escapes my lips. “We’re closed.”
I don’t know why I’m doing this song and dance with him. There’s no doubt I’ll open and let him in. I just want to see his face. To confirm my suspicions.
“Please,” he says finally before pushing the hoodie off his head.
When he lifts his eyes to lock on mine through the glass, my heart thuds against my ribs. Handsome doesn’t cover what he is. I try to hide the recognition in my expression when I look at Sully.
His dark eyes hold mine hostage for a long time. Even in the dim light, I can tell they’re like the night sky, with no stars, no moonlight, just darkness. The brown has turned black. It’s the same gaze that captured mine and never let go that first day we met. A flicker of recognition dances in them, but only for a moment, though. He doesn’t realize who I am. Not yet anyway.
“Just one drink. I’ve been ridin’ all night,” he tells me through the shut door. His deep, rumbling tone seems to vibrate the window. “Ye know Monster,” he tells me. “He’s one of my best friends, and he’s always sworn by this place as bein’ one of the best pubs to hide away in.” He moves his body, and the patch on the front of his cut becomes visible. He is part of the Royal Bastards.
Under the main patch logo is the word, Cleaner. All I can think about is going to bed after a long day, but I know this will be a good time to talk to him. It’s been months since I’ve seen him, and even though he’s not realized who I am, he still makes my heart do stupid shit in my chest. The thrum is almost deafening. I undo the latch and pull open the door.
“I haven’t seen you in here before.” A remark I know he’ll agree with.
“Been out on a job and got delayed.” He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t ask. I know what a Cleaner does within an MC. I know all too well. I’m about to reply when he continues, “Was headin’ home, and I noticed the light flickerin’ on the outside. I’ve passed by many a time, but usually drink alone in my flat a couple of blocks away,” he tells me as he saunters by me.
In my rush to tidy up, I forgot to turn off the outside light. But the scent of his cologne invades my senses, and I inhale deeply. I can’t stop my attention from drinking in every inch of him. From his broad shoulders, right down to his tight-fitting jeans that hug thick thighs and an ass that makes the denim look like it’s been painted on. He’s beautiful. He doesn’t look at me. Instead, he looks around the pub.
“Just needed a drink before headin’ to an empty home,” he says as I join him at the bar. I am so close to him it’s like a dream. There have been times where I wondered what it would be like to see him again. Nothing compares to this. “I know ye,” he says as he stares at me. “Clover?”
I don’t know how to answer him. I thought he’d be angry with me for not calling. I should have. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was afraid.
“Yeah,” I say as I swipe the cloth from the countertop.
He shakes his head. “It’s… I didn’t think ye’d still be around,” he says slowly. “Pour me a Jameson, double, no ice,” he orders with a nudge of his head to the top shelf behind me.
Grabbing the bottle and a glass, I pour a double shot before setting it in front of him. “Here you go.”
“Join me, Lucky?” His voice is a ragged vibration of need when his hand lands on mine. He holds it for a moment. And it’s the first time in a long while since a man has touched me and I don’t flinch. But then my hand moves of its own accord, and I pour myself a shot as well. I keep my gaze locked on his as I lift the glass to my mouth while he picks his drink up.
I allow my stare to roam over his fingers and the ink that adorns his knuckles. His right hand has the letters HATE on each finger, the left hand has LOVE inked on it. And there’s another tattoo written in a smaller script between the curve of his thumb and forefinger—your throat here. It shouldn’t turn me on, but it does. The idea of his strong hand wrapped around the delicate column of my neck makes every nerve in my body spark.
His face is rugged, just as I noticed earlier, his lips full as they glisten with the alcohol, and I find myself wanting nothing more than to lick up every drop. I shouldn’t want him like this. Though, I can’t help my body from aching in all the right places.