Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
It never stopped making my heart ache a bit for him, though.
Even if a part of me did understand how the women responded.
Slash was probably, objectively, the most outwardly intimidating man I had ever seen.
He was tall, dark-haired, with a short-ish, cultivated beard, and lots of ink. But it was the scars that scared everyone off.
There was one that split his left brow.
Another cut through his lips.
But the biggest of them, the one that likely gave him his road name, was long, wide, and deep, running from his temple, through his brow, over the bridge of his nose, narrowly missing his eye, and then down the other cheek before it disappeared off the edge of his jaw.
If, somehow, the woman could get past the scars, his voice was something like gargling rocks.
I, personally, thought it was sexy as hell.
But if you were on the edge of being scared of him already, the voice would probably push you right over, and send you running.
I wanted a night away from Shady Valley, and everything it represented for me, but I found myself moving through the bar, then sidling up beside Slash.
His body stiffened at someone sitting down beside him.
“They probably would have been boring lays anyway,” I told him as I motioned to the bartender to give Slash another round, and throw one in for me.
Slash’s head raised, his gaze sliding over my face.
“The fuck you doing here?” he asked, brows drawing low.
“I had to visit my somewhat crazy aunt,” I told him. “I figured I would stop here tonight for some fun.”
“Fun,” he repeated, grabbing his fresh drink with his hands that were tatted enough to almost completely hide the scars over them. “Then the fuck you doing talking to me?” he asked.
“Let me think,” I said, reaching for my drink. “Should I be spending my time with Mr. Receding Hairline with the indent from his wedding ring still on his finger?” I asked, nodding toward him. “Or perhaps the incel in the corner who keeps giving Sway dirty looks because he’s too much of a dickhead to get the attention of women himself? Oh, or, maybe I should be chatting up the guy in the black suit who wants everyone to think he’s a big roller, but that’s a fake Rolex, and he’s barely tipping the bartender.”
“What about him?” Slash asked, jerking his chin toward the other side of the bar where an, admittedly, handsome guy had just walked up. Nice hair. Good bone structure. Most of it looked good. If you weren’t looking close enough.
“Oh, but you have to look at him as a woman, not a guy,” I told Slash.
“And what would I be seeing if I were a woman?” Slash asked.
“His hands,” I told him. They were nice hands. Big, strong-looking. “He’s got jagged-ass fingernails. What woman in her right mind would want those up inside of her?” I asked, making Slash let out a choking laugh as he took a sip. “See?” I added, touching the very tips of his rounded fingernails. “Neat. Guys who pay attention to their fingernails are likely just as thorough about… other things,” I said, feeling that familiar warmth spread through my core.
Maybe it should have caught me off-guard.
Feeling the beginning twinges of desire for a guy I had known casually for a long time.
Then again, it didn’t surprise me with that whole “liking the guys who are absolutely terrible for me” thing that I had going on.
I could probably thank my mother for that gene.
Amongst other things.
Slash’s gaze cut to mine, the hunger clear in his dark eyes as his hand suddenly pinned mine to the bar top. A movement so quick that I didn’t even know it was coming.
And, somehow, it sent another jolt of desire through my system.
“You got a room upstairs?” he asked, and we both knew what he was really asking.
“Fourteen-sixteen,” I said, sliding my hand out from under his, then climbing off of the stool as he reached for his wallet, tossing money carelessly onto the bar, not even paying attention to the fact that he’d tipped the guy a hundred bucks.
I was out of the bar before he got off his stool.
My heart was hammering in my chest, in the pulse points in my neck and groin, as I tried to casually walk to the elevator like I wasn’t just going to make another huge mistake in my life.
Taking a deep breath, I moved inside the elevator car, a part of me wondering if I should turn around, get out, and make my way out of the hotel, hell, right out of the city.
Because there could be epic repercussions for hooking up with a guy from my hometown.
But then, as the doors were about to close, a big, tatted, scarred hand was shooting between them, forcing them to open once again.