Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
I nod, even though a Trans Am is nothing I’d brag about.
“Nice ride,” I say, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “You come to these shows often?”
“Every chance I get,” Glen replies, his tone dripping with an attempt at casualness that feels anything but. “It’s a great way to meet like-minded enthusiasts.” He smirks, his gaze lingering on Margot a moment too long. “But we know each other from Jerry’s Garage, right, Margot?”
The corners of her mouth hitch into a patient smile. “We do.”
Glen grins like an idiot. “The car world is small, small, small.”
I step closer, wrap my arm around Margot’s waist and subtly pull her against my side. “Yeah, it’s a small world,” I say, my voice lowering. “Never know who you’ll run into. Or where.”
Glen chuckles, a nervous edge to his voice. “True, true. Well, I should probably get back to my car. Don’t want anyone touching it,” he says, casting a final lingering look at Margot. “It was good seeing you again, Margot. Nice meeting you, Jensen.”
“Likewise,” I reply, my tone flat. I wait until he’s on the other side of his car, talking to someone else, to pull a few inches away from Margot. I still keep my hand on her back, though. “You okay?”
She nods, but a bit of pink dusts her cheeks. “I’m fine. Glen’s alway…chatty.”
“Too chatty,” I mutter, handing her one of the straws. “Let’s keep walking.”
She pokes the straw into her cup and takes a sip. Fucking hell. Her lips would look so much better wrapped around something else.
“Thanks.” She hesitates, then looks up at me, her eyes searching mine. “Are you mad at me?”
“What? No,” I say quickly. “Why would I be mad at you?”
“You seem tense.” She stops walking and faces me. “Edgy.” She waves her hand in front of my body.
“Edgy, huh? I’ve been called worse.” The street’s full of more people now, so I move us to the sidewalk, out of the flow of traffic. “I didn’t like the way Glen was leering at you. That’s all. I was worried about you.”
“Oh!” Her face brightens. “Nah, Glen’s a big blowhard. But he’s harmless. You were right, though.” She brushes her fingers against her pins. “He stared at my chest for so long—either he can’t read, needs glasses, or he was trying to guess my cup size.”
“He can read fine,” I grumble.
She tips her head down and plays with her straw. “It’s nice having you with me.” She takes a quick sip of lemonade.
“Just think of me as your attack Doberman.”
She blinks. “Oh, I hope that’s not why…that’s not the only reason—”
“I’m the one who asked if I could come with you, remember?”
Her apologetic expression softens. “Oh, right. You did.” She stares at the cup in her hand, then fiddles with her purse. “Let me pay you for the lemonade.”
“Are you kidding?” I tap the hand holding the purse. “Knock it off.”
“You know, if you keep paying for everything, then this is kind of like a date,” she points out in a low, amused whisper.
I definitely don’t need her thinking that. “Can’t we do things my way without slapping a label on it?”
Margot opens her mouth.
“Jigsaw!” a high voice squeals, cutting off whatever Margot was about to say. Then another screech splits the air. Dozens of people turn to stare at us.
Two barely dressed dancers I recognize from Crystal Ball slide off the hood of a purple hot rod and clomp over the pavement in their heavy, platform boots.
What the motherfuck did I do to deserve this?
Johnsonville is far enough outside of Empire, I didn’t expect to run into anyone I know here. It’s a small, local car show that still advertises in the local Pennysaver for fuck’s sake.
“Hi, Jiggy!” Stacia lunges like she’s going to hug me, then must remember I’m not Ravage—who’ll use any excuse to let the strippers rub themselves all over him. She stops short and rests her hand on her hip, striking an unnatural pose to show off her tiny purple string bikini and shiny, black platform boots.
Kyla, mousy girl that she is, maintains a respectful distance, her hands anxiously twisting in front of her red, orange, and yellow bikini top. “Please don’t tell Dex we’re moonlighting.”
“I doubt Dex gives a fuck what you do in your off time.” I glance at Kyla, then Stacia. “As long as you’re not missing a shift to do this, he won’t care.”
“Oh, good!” Kyla leans up on her tiptoes like she wants to whisper in my ear, but I don’t bother leaning down. “We’re letting guys know they can come see us dance at CB too.”
“Good.” I shrug, not really giving a fuck. I cover shifts there once in a while to help out the MC when Dex is short on bouncers. But other than that, I don’t have anything to do with running the place. Dex has infinitely more patience to deal with all the bullshit that comes with running a strip club than I do. He’s a fuck of a lot nicer to the dancers than I’d be too.