Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Ugh, what?
He hung up the phone and dragged himself out of bed. “Greer’s friend got kicked out of a bar just down the street. I’mma keep him company until Greer gets there.”
“I’ll come with you.” I hurried out of bed too and reached for my sweats.
“You don’t have to do that, pet.”
“I want to.” It gave me a solid excuse to steal Lee’s Navy hoodie. “Is it anyone we know?”
“I may have mentioned him. Sloan. He’s part of one of the kink communities here in town.”
It rang a bell.
Less than a minute later, we were getting into the elevator, and I did my best to scrub the sleep from my face. But I couldn’t quit yawning.
Lee threaded our fingers together and inspected my new cuffs with a sleepy little smile on his face. “They look damn good on you.”
They really fucking did. They sat right where my tattoos began.
“Let’s do a selfie,” I said. Because we looked sleepy hot together in the mirror. I pulled out my phone, and Master humored me, though he didn’t flash a sexy smile or something to the camera; he growled playfully and pretended to take a bite out of my jaw.
He still managed to look like sex on legs, while my dopey grin was just corny. Plus, my eyes were half closed.
“I’m a mess.”
He chuckled and eyed the photo. “Send that to me. You’re fucking adorable.”
“Why do you always want the rejects of pictures?”
“Because those are the best ones,” he insisted. “That little dork right there with the impressive bed head—I’m marrying him.”
I smiled up at him.
He kissed my nose. “Remember the photo you took when we went to that god-awful concert with your sister a few years ago? I love that picture.”
“Hey.” I mock-scowled. Never mind that I’d come off as a sloppy drunk in what was supposed to be a seductive photo, but to have my man insult Taylor Swift…? Granted, she wasn’t my favorite either, but I shook my ass to her music because she was my sister’s idol. “Don’t think I didn’t hear you singing her songs in the shower at the hotel.”
“What choice did I have?” Lee laughed incredulously. “They drill the same beat into your skull over and over, and all the lyrics sound the same.”
Excuses!
I bumped my hip to his upper thigh and walked out of the elevator. “You know what they say about haters, love. Don’t be that way.”
“They’re gonna hate, hate, hate, et cetera?” he guessed.
He got it.
Once we reached the sidewalk, he lit up a smoke, and I took the opportunity to tell him about the gig we had tickets to next week. I’d told him I’d be in charge of our date for Friday, and it was a singer he really liked. Ironically, I’d listened to that singer a lot during our breakup, so I hoped hearing him live wouldn’t rehash a bunch of bad memories.
“And I was thinking I could make reservations at that Cajun place in Georgetown we love,” I went on. “Dinner, a little Patrick Droney, then drinks?”
“That sounds fantastic.” He draped an arm around my shoulders and kissed my temple. “I still feel ten feet tall from the time you told me I sound like him when I sing.” He puffed out his chest.
Now who was the adorable dork?
“We should go camping again before it gets too cold,” I suggested. “It’s the only time you let me hear you sing.”
“We can definitely make that happen.”
As we rounded the corner of the building, he lifted his gaze to scan the street. We had two bars nearby—
“That’s gotta be him.” Lee nodded at something down the sidewalk.
I didn’t see—wait. Okay, it was the next block. Someone was sitting on the ground and leaning back against the wall of the building.
We picked up the pace a bit, and I regretted not having thought about bringing water and maybe painkillers. Chances were the guy had gotten too familiar with the bottom of a bottle.
I slowed down when we were almost there, and Lee approached until he was just a couple feet away from the man.
I had no memory of meeting him before, even though we’d attended plenty of events outside of our own community.
“Sloan?” Lee squatted down in front of Sloan and touched his knee. “Can you hear me, Sloan?”
The man wore casual clothes, jeans, T-shirt, and a beanie. His All Stars had seen better days. He had some ink and steel too, and a memory struck. Yeah, I remembered Lee had mentioned him now. Sloan was a tattoo artist, wasn’t he?
No visible wounds, so hopefully he hadn’t been in a fight.
“Sloan.” Lee squeezed the man’s knee again, shook him a little, to which Sloan muttered something I couldn’t decipher. “Greer’s on his way to take you home, buddy.”
Sloan grunted and brought his hand to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose. “That motherfucker.”