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)
The only guy who had ever managed to lay a hand on me more than once was Jerry because he was built like a linebacker, and he was a piece of work.
Zepp slowly faced me, veins bulging in his neck. “It’s not whether he could, it’s whether you would let him.”
“Oh, fuck you, Zepp!” I descended the steps.
He could bang on Max’s door the rest of the night for all I cared and get himself arrested.
“He’s not my boyfriend. I just let you think that.” I started down the sidewalk. “And he definitely hasn’t hit me.”
“So what? You’re just fucking him?”
My jaw clenched, teeth grinding over each other. I could have just told Zepp the truth, but pride reared its ugly head. And that little thing inside me that refused to back down stamped its feet like an angry toddler. “What if I am?” I said, turning and walking backward. “Pissed off that it’s him and not you?”
That got him. Good. Zepp stormed down the steps, nostrils flaring. He latched onto my jaw, and his hot, angry breaths rushed across my face. His temper should have scared me—that would have been rational. But for reasons I couldn’t explain, I felt safe with Zepp, and I might have been the only person in this town who could say that.
“I don’t give a shit about anything but who hits you.”
Something twisted in my chest. “Then why ask if I’m screwing him?”
His hand dropped to his side, then swept through his hair as he took a step back. There were seconds, minutes, eternities before he spoke. “Because a guy like that doesn’t deserve your fucking time.”
The tension fizzled between us like one of the fireworks that never quite exploded as he walked down the drive. My anger petered out, and on a sigh, I followed him to his bike.
“I’m offended you think I’d screw a private school quarterback. And just so you know, I’ve never let anyone hit me in my life,” I said. I hated the way his expression morphed from rage to pity. “Don’t you dare look at me like that.” I jabbed a finger at him.
We stared at each other. The distant whine of cop sirens trickled through the night. The Harfords had probably called the police—I wouldn’t blame them. Something foreign passed between us, making my chest tighten.
“And just so you know, Roe,” he tossed the helmet to me, and I caught it against my stomach. “I won’t let anyone hit you, either.” There was no missing the threat in his voice.
His display should have pissed me off, but the sad fact was, no one had ever cared enough about me to get so angry. No one in my life had ever been willing to fight for me. And the look in Zepp’s eyes when he thought Max was hurting me—he was willing to kill.
The motorcycle rumbled to life, and I slipped on the helmet, then straddled the back of his bike, wrapping my arms around his waist. I absorbed the warmth that I shouldn’t have craved so suddenly, but Zepp gave a shit. And that complicated things.
* * *
He pulled up outside Wolf’s place then cut the engine.
“Thanks,” I said, getting off the bike and handing him the helmet. I headed toward my trailer.
“Want a beer?”
When I turned around, he was already on Wolf’s deck, propping a rickety ladder against the side of the double-wide. I could have gone home and probably should have, but I couldn’t deny the little pull I felt toward him at that moment. A beer couldn’t hurt. Right? He scaled the rungs like a nimble cat, disappearing over the roof. With a groan, I climbed up after him.
There were two ratty, nylon deck chairs secured to the shingles, along with a wooden cubby that housed a mini-fridge. From up here, I could see most of the trailer park, and the lights of the passing cars and big rigs on the highway. To see it all like this was kind of depressing. This was all there was.
He took two beers from the fridge, tossing one to me before he folded his massive frame into one of the chairs. “If you’re not sucking Harford’s dick, what were you doing at his house?”
“I tutor him,” I confessed, sinking down beside him.
“You?” He snorted. “Tutor?” He threw his head back against the lawn chair on a hard laugh.
Asshole. People made quick-fire judgments about me all the time. They saw me as white trash in a short skirt. No prospects. Certainly, no brains. I was used to it, hell, I encouraged it, so why did it bother me that he saw me the same way?
“Is that so hard to believe? You thought I was dating him!”
His gaze dragged over me, slow. The subtle rake of teeth over his lip drew my attention, triggering the hazy memory of this mouth on my neck Friday night. A flash of heat stung my cheeks.