Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85569 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85569 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
It was extremely difficult to choose the latter option, but for the sake of my dad and the gathering crowd, I conceded. I would totally and absolutely ignore him. The asshole was not worth one second of my time.
“Ready?” Mr. Vaughn announced on his microphone.
I got ready.
The whistle was blown, and I began wolfing down the waffles. I loved the waffles. They were provided by Mrs. Sherman’s bakery and they were incredibly delicious. I didn’t look to my left or right despite the grunting ridiculous noises everyone was making. I just tried to chew mine properly so they would go down easier. I had a bottle of water in my hand to facilitate this.
I kept going, but I was sure I wasn’t going to win this time around because the monster by my side was barely swallowing. It made me realize that the only reason I had succeeded in the past was that I had been playing with lightweights: older people in the town with absolutely no stamina and, of course, my dad, who I was sure now allowed me to win. Suddenly it all seemed so pointless. I didn’t want to sit with this asshole next to me. I didn’t care to win. The waffles tasted like mud in my mouth.
I stopped, unable to go forward. There were tears in my eyes. I was crying for Cole. He was supposed to meet me at the waffle stand and he never showed up. I felt disappointed, sad, and confused all at once. Why on earth did he bid ten thousand dollars for a kiss from me? It was all so baffling. I jumped to my feet and the idiot next to me sniggered and continued to chomp down on his pile of waffles. Looked like he was going home with the prize.
“Maybe next year, Montana?” Mr. Vaughn said consolingly. He was a kind middle-aged man and I had a soft spot for him.
“Yeah,” I said. “Maybe next year.”
My dad stood and came towards me, his forehead creased with worry lines. “What’s wrong, Buttercup?”
I hid my hurting tears from his searching eyes. “Nothing, Dad. I’m just tired. I think I’ll go straight home.”
“Want me to take you home?”
“Nah, you stay and have fun. I’ll give Lola a ride. She’ll like that.”
Chapter 50
Montana
The girls had told me not to do it, but I didn’t listen.
Now I felt worse than ever. The waffles were like a big heavy mass in my stomach, my heart felt like someone had stabbed a knife into it, and my head was fucked.
“Self-pity doesn’t suit you,” I told myself as I walked away from the festival and turned into the shady lane, a shortcut to the carpark. As I made the right turn, I bumped into someone.
“I'm sorry,” I immediately apologized, but did not look up because I was too lost in my own suffering. I would have continued on my way if a heavy, painful hand had not clamped down around my arm. To my shock, I was yanked back into one of the stalls close to the edge of the field where the festival was being held. The grip was so hard and painful that it knocked the breath out of me. That was the last straw. I lost it.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I lashed out. It was then I realized who had manhandled me so roughly.
My heart leapt into my throat. It was that dick. The one that had been by my side during the waffle-eating contest.
“Hey! Every time I meet you, you seem ruder than ever. What is it this time? Is it because you lost?” he taunted.
“Let go of me,” I spat, glaring at him, trying to twist my arm, but it wouldn’t budge from his grip. Now he was truly beginning to piss me off.
“What is your problem?” he asked.
“I said, let go of me.”
He laughed. “What, you think you're too pretty to stop for a moment to have a conversation with me like a normal human being? What are you? Some sort of princess?”
“One last warning. Let go of me,” I enunciated clearly, slowly, so that even his two brain cells would understand I meant business.
I heard laughter from behind and realized then that his friends were outside the stall watching and acting as backup. He leaned forward then to whisper closer to me, and his breath nearly made my already upset stomach heave even more. It reeked of rotting meat and vomit. I was more disgusted and upset than I could explain. I swear I was about to puke on his cheap shoes.
“Aye, you really need something down your throat to get you to relax. I’m offering up my cock to do the deal. What do you say? We could go over to my truck-"
Before I could stop myself, my hand swung out and struck his pale, ginger-bearded face. It was sloppy, but I was so mad that I felt the sting vibrate all the way up to my shoulder. My palm had left a bright red imprint on his cheek and I was sure he saw stars, and I wasn’t about to apologize for giving him something he richly deserved. I saw the other men go silent, and I realized that I had made a very bad move. These men were nothing like him. They had cold, dangerous eyes. I was clearly involved in something much bigger than a low-life trouble-maker trying to keep his dick happy.