Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
I banged my fist over the back-passenger window. “Wake the hell up, Monroe. I’m not carrying you.”
She pushed up, swiping hair from her face with a confused look. She stumbled onto the driveway; her expression scrunched when she glanced at my rundown house. “Why are we here?”
“You said you wanted to sleep with Zepp.” Wolf shrugged a shoulder, and Monroe shot him a death glare.
“Bullshit.”
I didn’t have the patience to listen to her crap, so I started up the path and unlocked the door while she argued with Wolf. Man, did he have her wound up by the time she staggered inside the house.
“I would rather screw…Hendrix,” she slurred. “Wait, no. He’s disgusting. You, Wolf.” Her shoulder banged into the doorway, and then she stopped to glare at me like I had something to do with it. “You’re a dick.”
She headed toward the living room, but I caught her by the elbow and redirected her toward the stairs. God knew what state Hendrix would be in when he got home, and I could only imagine the fight that would break out if he attempted to harass her. And he would. On top of that, I wanted to see the look on her face in the morning when she woke up. In my bed. Most likely with little recollection of how she got there. Cruel? Of course it was, but that would be priceless.
Monroe missed a few steps, nearly eating the carpet several times before we made it to the top. “Wait.” She stopped outside my bedroom, face scrunched and arms crossed in typical Monroe eat-shit-fashion. “Where are you taking me?”
“To bed.”
Her brows hitched. “I’m not getting in your bed.”
“What? Don’t want to tell the quarterback prince you slept with me?”
She opened her mouth to argue, but the ratty thread of patience I had left snapped. I tossed her over my shoulder and carted her into my room, throwing her onto the bed like a ragdoll. She boomeranged right back up, glaring at me while I stripped down to my boxers.
“I’m not having—” Her gaze dropped to my chest, then lower—“sex with you.”
“I don’t have sex, Monroe.” I leaned over, gripping the edge of the mattress while I inched close to her reddening face. “I fuck.”
The springs creaked when she pushed to her feet and brushed past me. I dropped to the bed when her shirt came off, and I thought, finally we were getting somewhere. My gaze skirted over her back, stopping on the thin strap of her red lace bra, and I knew we were getting somewhere. Of all the things I’d asked her to wear, she had chosen that. “Red lace bra, huh?”
“Red lace bra,” she said in a mocking tone, then gave the clasp a swift flick. Her bra was on the floor. She was nothing but bare back and fishnets and a pair of tiny shorts. My dick hardened while I tried to decide where I would start with her, rough or soft. One glance at those combat boots, and I settled on rough. But then, she put her shirt back on and kicked off her boots.
My brain short-circuited, sparking for a few seconds until she slipped between the sheets on a huff, then flipped onto her side to face me. This was not how these things went…
She aimed her probing gaze at me like she thought, maybe, if she studied me hard enough, she would find something. Monroe could stare as long as she wanted; there was nothing to peel back. Nothing inside. What she saw was what she got.
“You know,” she finally slurred, patting my cheek. “You’d be pretty if you weren’t such an ass.”
I snorted. That was her grand revelation. Like looks had anything to do with personality.
Seconds ticked by before she rolled onto her back, body all stiff like a corpse. “This was your plan all along. Get me into your bed.” She waved her hand around for a second. “I like your light.”
I glanced at the faded, hula girl lampshade, remembering when I had begged my mom to buy it for me from the thrift store when I was eight. Three bucks she didn’t have but bought it for me anyway. Total kill switch to the mood.
“Your house is nice,” she said.
“My house is shit.”
Monroe lifted a finger, jabbing the air. “But it is a house.” She sounded like Jack Sparrow, Jesus Christ.
“Yeah.”
I tried to ignore the fact that she was beside me. This entire thing was weird. She was shitfaced. And not naked. And in my bed. I just wanted to go to sleep and pretend that I didn’t have a girl in my bed that I wasn’t going to screw.
But she flopped over toward me, then poked me. “Can I ask you something?”
“No.”
“Why are you such a dick? Or do you just want people to think that? Because you know, it’s a whole lot of dick...ness.”