Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
On stage, three girls whirl around shiny poles. I had no idea the stunts they’re performing were even humanly possible and I stand there staring like an idiot until someone bumps into me.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
The girl scowls at me but continues walking to one of the tables where she promptly sits in a customer’s lap.
Bar. Yup. I should get out of the way.
A tall blonde behind the bar stares at me. “First time here?”
“Yup.”
She flicks her gaze over me in a dismissive way. “What can I get you?”
“Lemonade?”
She nods and a few seconds later passes a cold bottle and plastic cup to me. Guess I’ll be pouring my own drink. I perch on a stool at the end of the bar where I can place my back to the wall and let my gaze loose, searching for Dex.
There he is. My eyes pick out his familiar shape. He’s standing with his back against the same wall I’m currently leaning on all the way on the other side of the club. Arms crossed over his chest. Serious scowl in place. He’s facing the stage, but his attention seems to be the men seated around it rather than the girls working the poles.
I tug my phone out of my pocket and send him a quick text.
Me: Why are you so damn sexy wearing that scowl?
A deeper frown creases his forehead. He lifts his head and slowly searches the room. His gaze finally lands on me, and the scowl melts off his face. Surprise, tenderness, and concern all seem to flicker over his expression.
Affection bubbles up inside me.
Eyes on me, he marches through the crowd, dodging dancers, waitresses, and customers until he’s standing in front of me. So close, he bumps into my knees.
“Firecracker.” His lips twist into a smile. “What’re you doing here?”
I shrug even though embarrassment prickles over my skin. “You said I could visit at any time.”
“I did.” He rests his hand on my thigh and leans into my space. “Wasn’t sure you’d actually come, though.”
Oh God. With his intense eyes, low voice, and warm breath against my ear, I could come right now in the middle of this alien environment from his presence alone.
“How’d you get in?” he asks.
“Uh, the front door?” I awkwardly point toward the entrance.
One corner of his mouth lifts. “Aren’t you sneaky.” He slides his hand from my thigh to my hip. “Were you okay?”
I nod quickly. “Malik was nice to me. Although he seemed a bit suspicious about why I was here.”
He rumbles with laughter. “That’s what we pay him to do.”
I touch his leather vest. “His vest is kind of like yours, but I didn’t see the same patches.” I tap my finger under his Lost Kings MC patch.
He flicks his gaze down to where I’m touching and I snatch my hands away. “Sorry, am I allowed to touch your vest?”
He grabs my hand and brings it to his lips, dusting a kiss against my knuckles. “You’re allowed to touch anything on me, firecracker.” He presses my palm against his chest to demonstrate.
Something tickling at the back of my mind says this is a big deal. Didn’t I read somewhere that you’re not supposed to touch a biker’s patches? We lock eyes and whatever I might’ve read doesn’t seem important anymore.
“You just made my night a thousand times better,” he says, leaning in to press a kiss to my forehead. “And to answer your question, Malik’s still a prospect, so he doesn’t have all his patches yet.”
I can use the context clues to figure out what a prospect is. “How is that mountain of a man not fully patched?” I ask.
“Takes more than size,” he answers.
“I’m kidding. Sort of.”
“We call the patches ‘colors,’” he says.
“Colors,” I repeat. Easy enough to remember. They’re colorful.
A hard clack from the front of the club draws my attention to the stage. One of the girls is holding her body in a horizontal line away from the pole. She makes a wide “V” with her legs and snaps them together, knocking her high-heeled platform shoes together.
“Dear God,” I mutter, resting my hand on my stomach. “I can’t even imagine the core strength it takes to do that.” The physics of the movement alone hurts my brain. And yet, the woman swings her body upside down and repeats the foot-clap movement. All while making it look effortless. My breath catches in my lungs, waiting for her to spin herself right side up and safely return to the stage. A few seconds later, she does, executing a number of drops and graceful spins before landing in a split at the bottom of the pole.
Men cheer and throw money at her. She crawls seductively over the stage to collect the cash and that’s when I lose interest in the performance.
“That takes a lot of…athletic skill,” I say to Dex.