Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 74501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Georgiana Traylor was movie star gorgeous.
“Fantastic,” he muttered, shoved his phone back into his pocket, and headed to DIA.
Chapter Two
Carry-Ons
Dutch
With what seemed like a thousand other people, Georgiana Traylor was spewed out of the wide opening that was at the top of the escalators from the underground train at DIA.
Flight details indicated she’d come direct from DC.
A long flight.
And she looked bright, rested, and way more gorgeous IRL than in her picture.
Dutch approached.
She took him in as he did, walking in a way she did not intend to stop, the expression on her face all he needed to know.
Beautiful.
And a bitch.
One look at his MC cut, she thought she had his number, and she didn’t like it.
Even though she could read the patch stitched into the leather on the front of his cut that said Chaos, and she had to know his brother was in the same Club. And he knew she knew Jag.
He also knew, as he watched her opening her mouth to say something, he’d better get there first or the woman was going to have to get over her issues with Lyft.
“Yo, I’m Dutch. Jagger’s brother. Carolyn and him got tied up, so they asked me to come and get you.”
She made a show of stopping, blasting him with an unhappy look, then drooping a shoulder to allow a beat-up leather backpack to fall off. She caught the strap in her hand, dug into the pack, pulled out her phone, then made a further show of taking it out of airplane mode and waiting until it binged with her texts.
“Should turn off airplane mode the instant the wheels touch down like every other loser who can’t breathe without an electronic connection,” she mumbled irritably to her phone then looked at him. “Carolyn shared. Thanks for coming all the way out here to get me.”
She said that last like she wasn’t thankful even a little bit.
“Not a problem,” he lied right back.
Her eyes narrowed like him not meaning what he said was rude, but her doing it when he’d just met her and was doing her a big, freaking favor was a-okay.
Jesus.
This was Carolyn’s sister, all right, totally the pain in the ass Carolyn had described her to be.
“You gotta pick up a bag from baggage claim?” he asked in order to get this show on the road.
“Yeah,” she answered, her gaze scanning for the screens that shared baggage claim info.
“You’re on seven.”
“Right,” she muttered and started motoring.
He watched her go.
More accurately, he watched her ass as she went.
Okay, he’d give friendly a try.
“Not a carry-on person?” he asked, falling into step beside her.
She was tall-ish. Maybe five six. Five seven.
And something the photo didn’t share, she was curvy as fuck.
Carolyn was tall too, but reed thin, no tits, but even he had to admit she had a great ass.
Georgiana had it all. Tits. Ass. Thighs. A belly.
She was Ashley Graham and then some.
And just as fuckable.
Fuck him.
“I like to shampoo my hair, and sadly, I can’t shake my dedication to mascara and foundation. Too many liquids to get through security,” she said to the space in front of her, like she was talking to air, and he didn’t exist. “And I detest all those jerks who cram all their crap in the overheads, making boarding last a million years instead of twenty minutes. They act like getting one over on the airlines and not paying to check a bag is akin to their own personal V-E Day.”
Right, well, it wasn’t like he didn’t know she was opinionated.
He definitely knew that.
And now it was confirmed.
“And when they shove their stuff in the bins over first class, and they don’t sit in first class, it makes me want to scream,” she ranted on. “I mean, the folks in first class either pay through the nose for those seats or travel so much, they have the miles to upgrade and earn a guaranteed section of overhead bin. It isn’t like the flight attendants won’t find a place for your bag because every other blockhead has taken up all the remaining space. And they’ll use first class if they have it. And a bag checked at the gate does not spontaneously combust when it’s put in the cargo hold. But you didn’t pay for that privilege, and you take it anyway, because you somehow think it’s your due, so how the world revolves around you, I do not know.”
Okay then.
He’d given it a shot by asking what he thought was an innocuous question.
He decided it was quiet from here on out.
“Needless to say,” she carried on even though he’d given her no indication he wanted to hear more, “I’d upgraded once, long flight, like this one. To New York. I was running late, got to the plane, so I didn’t get to board at the beginning. I had my laptop bag, which isn’t very big, mind you, and my backpack, and I had to put one in the overhead bin, no way I was going to check either. The plane wasn’t fully boarded, but some buffoon in the back had shoved his bag in my bin and the rest of first-class stowage was totally full. The guy sitting next to me was already there, saw it and told me. So I had to shove my laptop bag in a bin halfway up the plane. It sucked. I had to work on that flight, and it was a nuisance walking back there to get my laptop. Jerk.”