Total pages in book: 15
Estimated words: 13385 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 67(@200wpm)___ 54(@250wpm)___ 45(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 13385 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 67(@200wpm)___ 54(@250wpm)___ 45(@300wpm)
I was a fucking goner over Selma.
“They’re drunk,” Bentley complained as he walked out of the clubhouse, loud laughter ringing out behind him before the door shut. He had a soda in his hand, and he held a beer out to me. I grabbed the fresh, cold can from him and ruffled his hair.
“Thanks, kid.”
“How drunk?” Adler asked. The kids had been put in Adler’s old room about an hour ago, and they were passed out from running around and playing all day. Stars hung in the sky above us, and the moon glowed onto the lot, lighting up the areas that the streetlight didn’t hit, making it easy to see.
“Very drunk,” Bentley told him. “Mikayla is barely making any sense.”
Beau sighed, then downed the rest of his drink. “Welp…” he muttered, tossing his empty beer can into the trash can nearest us, “looks like I need to get my drunk ass woman home.” He handed Bentley his truck keys. “You up for driving, bud?”
Bentley beamed and eagerly nodded his head, clutching the keys in his hand. I clapped a hand to his shoulder. “Be careful, kid,” I told him. He was still getting used to driving. What Beau was offering him was huge.
He nodded. “I will. I promise.”
We headed inside the clubhouse as Bentley made his way to the truck. Sure enough, the girls were drunk as fuck. Mikayla was sprawled out on the floor, her words so heavily slurred, I could barely understand what she was saying. Selma was leaning against the wall, her fingers loosely wrapped around a damn near empty Vodka bottle, her eyes not even open.
She was going to definitely feel that in the morning.
“Alright, goldie. Let’s get home,” Beau said, lifting Mikayla from the floor.
She groaned, her arms sloppily wrapping around his neck. “You’re such a good man,” she mumbled, pressing a kiss to his throat.
He chuckled and began walking to the door. I dropped to my knees in front of Selma, grabbing the bottle from her limp fingers. She opened her eyes for a moment before her head lolled onto her shoulder, her violet eyes shutting again. They were the prettiest fucking eyes I’d ever seen.
“Alright, sweetheart,” I murmured, sliding my arms beneath her. She moaned low in her throat, her head falling against my shoulder now that she was cradled against my chest. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“M’kay,” she mumbled, her arms wrapping around my shoulders only to fall again. “Heavy,” she slurred.
I chuckled. She was so wasted. “You’ll feel better in the morning,” I assured her as I headed toward the stairs near the clubhouse doors. I slowly made my way up them and down the hall to my apartment, which was the last one on the right. As soon as her head hit the pillow, she curled up on her side, falling into a deep sleep.
I pulled her shoes off and then tugged the comforter over her before turning on the lamp. I knew my way around my apartment like the back of my hand, but she didn’t, and if she needed to get up in the middle of the night, I wanted her to be able to find her way around.
I grabbed a bottle of water from the case by my dresser and set it on the nightstand along with two Advil. After checking on her one last time, I headed into the bathroom to get a shower, washing the smell of grill smoke and meat off my skin and out of my hair.
She was still asleep once I emerged from the bathroom, breath fresh, a pair of sweatpants riding low on my hips. I gently pushed her hair back from her face, a soft smile tilting my lips.
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” I whispered, leaning down to brush my lips across her forehead.
Then, I snatched an old afghan out of the top of my closet and padded barefoot over to the chair in the corner, getting ready for a long, stiff night of sleeping in the chair.
four
Selma
My head was splitting open. I was pretty sure when I opened my eyes, I was going to see blood all over the very comfortable pillow my head was currently resting on; that was how badly it was throbbing.
Groaning, I pulled the covers over my head. The scent of spicy cologne and men’s soap infiltrated my nostrils, and my eyes snapped right back open, my heart skipping a beat in my chest.
I was not in my bed. That much was clear. Especially since my pillows were not this comfortable. These were clearly expensive pillows. Mine were the cheapest ones I could get from Walmart and were at least seven or eight years old and flatter than a pancake.
I slowly pulled the covers down from my head and took in the plain room around me. Only the minimal filled the small room—a chair, a dresser, a desk, the bed I was laying on, and two nightstands. I could hear the shower running behind one of the doors, and a pair of boots rested by the room door.