Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Loud, unrestrained laughter bounces his entire frame.
“I’m not fuckin’ kiddin’.”
“Relax, Wahl.” He tosses an arm around my shoulder, arrogant chortles continuing. “This shit is good for both of you. I promise.”
I send a small glare in his direction. “How the fuck is this shit good for us, Blu?”
“Because jealous sex is just a little bit hotter than make up sex.”
His playful eyebrow waggles have me grumbling, “I’m gonna kill you and make it look like a fuckin’ accident.”
He laughs again at first yet abruptly stops when I don’t join in.
Tilts his head.
Grows concerned.
“Shit,” he lowers his volume, “can you really do that?”
I can.
I have.
And if he fucked up my relationship with Arley in any real way, I most certainly will.
Rather than answer, I train my stare back on where the love of my life is struggling to keep up with the fancy footwork that’s been added to what was initially an easy-to-follow set of steps. The intricate movement of heels clicking against the polished floors feels as if someone is doing a dance Morse Code about how fucked this evening is.
Fuck, I wonder how much it would cost for the Fire Marshall to barge in and declare this shit a hazard forcing us all out.
Whatever it is I’ve got enough to cover it.
At this point I’m not above selling a fucking testicle to stop the increasing pain coming from watching Arley panic over her inability to catch the last two toe taps that occur before the group changes directions.
“God, it’s like that scene in Coyote Ugly except instead of being the Tyra Banks character-” my head instantly snaps his direction, “respectfully,” Blu lifts his beer free palm up in a pleading fashion, “she’s that blonde Jersey chick.”
I allow my gaze to gravitate back to where it belongs.
“Can she sing?”
His continued teasing results in my jaw beginning to tick.
“Should we get her a microphone?”
The opportunity to threaten him is suddenly cut short due to the movement spotted out of the corner of my eye. Leaning my back against the bar allows me to slyly oscillate my stare between my girlfriend wildly whipping her hair around – momentarily lost in the fun of the activity – and the figure stealthily weaving around the other patrons.
Its movements are precise.
Paced.
Have me reaching for the garnish tool I pocketed earlier while simultaneously studying its progression.
Lifting my bottle to my lips is done to mask my announcement. “Three Thirty.”
Blu continues to grin, elbows me in the side like he’s making another joke, and airily confirms, “Spotted.”
Arley and Aviva lock eyes and sassily sing the popular line in the bridge prompting a genuine smile to pierce my lips, an action that would convince the average person I’m unaware of my surroundings and an undertrained soldier that now is the perfect time to strike. And just like I predicted, the male who has had his head down during his entire trek this direction, flops onto the stool beside me, body purposely bumping into mine.
Effortlessly, I feign a chuckle and angle myself slightly in his direction, face leaned over to crowd his space. “Touch me again and I’ll paralyze you where you fuckin’ sit.” Letting the sharp end poke at the sensitive pressure point on his hand is followed by me pretending to laugh once more. “Come after my woman, and I’ll bury your ass out back.”
The male cocks his head to the side finally revealing his face. “Do you just not…believe in saying hello, Wahl?”
I roll my eyes and smoothly return the makeshift weapon to my pocket. “Why the cloak and dagger shit, McPherson?”
“Subtlety,” he announces at the same time he raises two fingers in the air to flag down a bartender. “You should try it sometime.”
“Just did.”
“You call threatening to kill me with a toothpick subtle?”
“I call not killin’ you with it subtle.”
On a slow shake of the head, he grumps, “You can’t kill a motherfucker with a toothpick, Wahl.”
“You can kill a motherfucker with just about anything.”
“True, but…” A nervous adjustment in his seat occurs next. “Not a toothpick. It’s not possible.”
“Not feasible and not possible are two different things, McPherson.” Arrogantly smirking can’t be stopped. “Shouldn’t you know that shit, jellyhead?”
“Jarhead.”
“Close enough.”
It’s his turn to roll his eyes, which allows for me to resume facing the group of women who are continuing the line dance activity, although switching steps to fit the Kane Brown song now pumping through the speakers.
McPherson waits until he has a beer to match our laid-back stance.
At that point, I nonchalantly ask, “How’s the tour lineup lookin’?”
“The Marvin Gaye set is on repeat for every major venue.”
For the first time since the incident at the office, relief plops onto my broad shoulders, prompting them to sink to the floor.
Thank fuck there’s some good news.
Knowing Arley is blacklisted from all the major players, all the ones that could possibly be a real threat worth worrying about, will make it a little easier to sleep at night.