Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Tillie grumbles, sitting forward, “I guess we’re going to see firsthand what Bishop does when he races.”
Wait, what?
Shit.
I push my door open, and Carter is already rounding my side. He places his hand out and I take it, standing to my feet. All eyes are on us. Great. I think I need more tequila. Snatching the bottle out of a very drunk Tatum’s hands, I bring the rim to my lips and pound it back.
“Hey,” he pulls me into his body, “you can ride with me.”
I swallow the potent liquid. “Really?”
He looks down at me, his eyes searching mine. “Really, really.”
Hooking my hands around his neck, I pull his lips down to mine. His warm breath falls over my lips and my heart pounds in my chest. I lean forward, about to kiss him—
A strong arm wraps around my waist, tugging me out of his grip. “Yeah, not gonna happen.”
I’m pushed behind Bishop’s body, with both him and Nate standing in front of me.
“Uh yeah, I’m pretty sure she rolled up with me, so she’s riding with me.” Carter reaches out to my arm, and he barely touches me, when Bishop steps up to him, chest to chest, nose to nose.
“Yeah,” Bishop murmurs, his eyes searching Carter’s and his square jaw clenching. “And I said it’s not gonna happen.” The entire crowd of people here are watching this epic pissing contest, Tatum and Tillie both awkwardly silent behind me.
“Bishop,” I whisper, but he doesn’t move. I look to Nate for help, only finding him watching Bishop with a questioning glare, and then looking back to Carter, who seems like he’s not going to back down anytime soon. Fuck. I’m on my own.
Bishop doesn’t move, so I raise my hand, grabbing hold of his thick arms. I could swear goose bumps break out over his arms at the connection of our skin. “Bishop?” I repeat, looking around nervously at everyone who is watching.
“Nah, it’s cool,” Carter says, brushing me off while his eyes search Bishop’s with venom. “You can take her for a ride. But make no mistake, she will be with me after, and…” He pauses, pretending to think over his next words. “…after that too.”
Oh, Jesus Christ.
He pushes away from Bishop, all of them still watching as Carter gets back into his car. Tatum clears her throat. “Um, well that was awkward.”
Bishop spins around to face me, both he and Nate obviously pissed at me. “What the fuck are you doing getting in the car with him? You were supposed to stay the fuck home!”
“Last I checked,” I said, looking directly at Bishop, “you don’t tell me what the fuck to do!” I really hope I didn’t slur in that sentence.
Bishop points toward his beautiful—fucking beautiful—Maserati. “Get in the fucking car, kitty, and don’t fucking move unless I tell you otherwise.” My mouth damn near drops open as I look to Nate, waiting for him to help me out here.
But my stepbrother is trying to hold in his laugh, his face turning purple. “Nate!” I hiss.
“Okay, okay, sorry, sis, but he’s right. I was going to lose my shit at you, but he did it for the both us. Get in the car.” He looks behind me, directly at Tatum. “You get in the fucking car too.” Then he looks to Tillie, who is now pushing Carter’s friend away. “And you, too.”
“Fuck.” Bishop shakes his head. “I can’t be carrying too much weight. I’ll take Madison.”
“Like fuck!” I blurt out. Bishop’s eyes narrow on me. I point. “Take Nate!”
“No!” Bishop orders, stepping closer. “Someone needs to keep an eye on you.” He snatches the bottle of tequila out of my hands and tosses it to the ground. “And since pussy doesn’t ride shotgun in my car…” He looks to Tatum and Tillie with a curled lip. Rude! “You will have to fucking do. Get. In.”
“You just said pussy doesn’t ride shotgun in your car!” I’m well aware people are still watching us, but because of tequila, I no longer care. I think I’ll give lots of fucks come Monday, though. “Last I checked, I have a pussy.”
Bishop grins, walking up to me. He tilts his head. “Hmm, want me to check? ’Cause I’m not so sure.”
I flip him off. “Fuck you.” Then I storm off toward his car, yanking the door open… and then failing, because they’re fucking scissor doors, before sliding inside. Bishop is still scowling at me from the same spot before he finally turns to talk with Nate, who has tucked both Tillie and Tatum under each arm with a sly smirk on his face. Both girls look up at him like he’s God’s gift to women. Oh, ew.
Why the hell are they racing, anyway? It’s not like they need money or cars, so why? Bishop turns and walks back toward me, sliding up his door and getting in.