Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
You started this game, not me, I reply and damned if my dick isn’t starting to plump. Just a few minutes ago I could hardly hold my eyes open and now I’m picturing Derek teasing me the way he does with the ass I really want to own.
You can finish it. We both want it. I’m drunk and horny.
It’s the last sentence that shocks through my chest. The way he ended up in my Jeep. What could have happened to him that night. The way he felt like he owed me…
Are you alone? My heart races. What the fuck is this guy doing to me?
When he doesn’t answer after a minute, I text again. Derek.
Sorry. Some guy got a little handsy. Obviously, I’m not alone. There are hundreds of people here with me.
Not the answer I was looking for.
His words from the morning he woke up in my apartment slam into my brain. I do owe you for what you did last night. Like…I’ll give you what you need…I see him looking at someone else and making that offer. The way his eyes change and damned if my hands don’t fist and my pulse doesn’t jackhammer against my skin.
Ugh. I’m out, and I’m texting you. Why am I out and texting you when there are hundreds of men here, huh?
I shove out of my bed, my fingers racing along my phone screen as I do. Where are you?
I’m at Pump with sexy man-beef everywhere, and I’m messaging you.
He doesn’t sound any happier about that than I’m happy about the fact that I’m pulling underwear up my legs and grabbing pants.
Go to the bar. Wait for me, I text back before I finish getting dressed and I’m out the door.
My fingers drum against the steering wheel as I make the short drive to Pump. It’s another bar Frankie had told me about. I remember seeing it and know exactly where it is.
What am I doing? What the fuck am I doing? trips around in my head as I walk toward the building. Music assaults me as soon as I step inside—some obnoxious mix of that pop shit Derek likes.
My heart is still thundering as I push my way through bodies.
“Damn, I haven’t seen you here before. Wanna play, Daddy?” A slender man with dark skin runs his hand down my arm. He’s cute, with a pouty little mouth, but for some reason, hearing him use the same name Derek does with me is like sandpaper against my skin.
“I’m looking for someone.”
“You found me,” he tosses back.
“Someone…else…sorry.” I pull away and head toward the bar. It’s then I realize there are two of them.
I weave my way through men dancing and kissing. I lose the heaviness in my bones. My eyes are wide and searching, and Jesus, I’m going to kick his little ass if he’s not waiting for me.
The second I reach the first bar, I scan the area for him. I can see him not coming just because I told him to—because he has to know it will drive me up the fucking wall, and I think Derek likes making me crazy more than anything else.
“Someone has you all in a hissy,” another man says, and I realize I’m scowling. Where the fuck is he?
Ignoring the guy, I head for the other bar on the opposite side of the room. The song changes, and it must be something everyone likes because there are all kinds of screams and cheers. In my ear, it doesn’t sound much different from what was playing before.
The second I reach the other bar, I see him. He turns and looks at me at the same time. Christ, he looks sexy as hell in a pair of tight jeans and this short T-shirt thing that shows off his defined abs. His hair is slightly wet with sweat and his face glistening.
I wait for him to smile, to give me that sexy, sassy, confident grin he’s so good at but instead he frowns and crosses his arms.
Oh, he’s pissed. It’s then I realize my lips are pulling into a grin. Annoyed Derek is cute as hell, and it’s nice being the one who isn’t trying to find his ground for once.
“Go to the bar. Wait for me? That’s all I get?” he says when I reach him. “What if I didn’t want to go to the bar and wait for you? There was a ripped top who was just about to make his move and—”
“You were texting me.”
He stops. The frown gets deeper. I get it. I feel the same way as he does. I’m not sure what this thing between us is.
“You came.”
“I did.”
“Why?” he asks.
“To make sure you were okay.”
“Ugh. I hate you, Jackson.” He turns to walk away, but I reach for him, wrap my hand around his wrist.