Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 71015 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71015 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
His mouth pursed. “Molly picked it out, and I don’t like the color. I wanted beige. She was the one who wanted red. So we compromised and got red.”
My inner bitch wanted to snarl at him for daring to say that woman’s name in my presence, but luckily my reasonable side managed not to let her win.
I snorted. “Some compromise. Are you sure you and Molly aren’t together?”
He shook his head. “No. She was just helping me. Which she didn’t really do much of. Only helped pick out the colors while she grimaced every time she saw someone dirty.”
I burst out laughing. “It’s a home improvement store. If you can’t come dirty to a place like that, where can you?”
A smirk crooked up the side of his lips. “Damn straight. That’s what I kept trying to tell her. She never goes anywhere without being decked out to the nines. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in a pair of shoes that doesn’t have a heel on it.”
“Well,” I pursed my lips. “That’s funny, since I don’t think I own a pair that has a heel on it.”
“I knew there was something smart about you,” he said as he took the can of paint with his color of choice in it.
He muttered a thank you, and we were off to the door knob section where he quickly offered up a suggestion, which I took gratefully.
Why there were over twenty choices for door handles, I didn’t know.
After we paid, we walked out, hand in hand, once again.
“So you want to meet me there?” I asked.
His eyes moved from the parking lot in front of us to me before he answered. “How about I pick you up from your parent’s house?”
I thought about that for all of two seconds before answering. “Sure. Do you know where that’s at?”
He nodded. “I’ll meet you there once I drop my paint off. Sound good?”
At my nod, he leaned forward, gave me a soft kiss on the head, and sauntered away.
His ass looked just as good as the front of him did.
“God,” I breathed as I watched him shove the can of paint into the saddle bags roughly, and then straddle the bike.
Those powerful thigh muscles were beautiful. I couldn’t help thinking about what they’d look like as he thrust deeply into my body.
The sharp sound of his motor revving to life pulled me out of my daydream as he slowly walked the bike backwards, turned towards the exit, and thundered off. Catching every man, woman, and child’s attention in the parking lot.
I shook my head, smiling all the way.
I was in deep.
Chapter 8
Why is it so hard to draw a star without the lines in the middle?
-One of life’s unanswered questions
Tru
“I know who he is, baby. Your daddy won’t hurt him,” my mother said softly as she sat on the front porch with me.
I looked at her worriedly. “I know he won’t do anything in front of us. It’s away from us that I’m worried about.”
She was about to reply when Grayson pulled up on his bike.
This time, though, he was wearing a nicer pair of jeans, a plain black t-shirt, his motorcycle club vest, and a black and gold Saint’s hat covering his pretty black hair.
“Oh, my. He is one good looking man,” my mom breathed.
“I heard that, woman,” my father grumbled as he made his way out on the front porch. “What’s that jackass doing here?”
I closed my eyes in mortification. “That’s the ride I’ve been waiting on.”
My dad’s eyes met mine and narrowed. “You’re shitting me. You’re letting Torren help you buy a car over me?”
He spit the name out of his mouth like it was the dirtiest word he’d ever said, and I had to smother the laugh that threated to boil up out of my throat as my mother pinned him with her cop look.
“Frank Hubert Doherty. Knock it off,” my mother snapped.
My dad’s eyes narrowed on my mother, but there was no anger in his expression. Only happiness.
My mother hadn’t yelled at him in nearly four months now.
She’d been too tired. Too weak.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll control myself,” he conceded.
Grayson made his way up to the front walk and stopped right in front of my father, offering his hand. “Sir.”
My dad took Grayson’s hand with reluctance. “Trammel.”
I could see Grayson’s eyes dance with laughter.
After a quick up and down pump of his hand, dad let him go and went to stand by my mother, who was watching the exchange with her cop eyes.
“Hello again, Grayson. It’s nice seeing you again,” my mom said softly.
Grayson grinned, showing off perfectly straight teeth. “It’s good to see you not in a hospital. You look like you have a bit more color on your cheeks today.”
My mom smiled at him warmly, and my heart filled to bursting once again.
It was so nice to see her genuinely smiling, instead of the fake shit she kept trying to pass off recently.
My dad didn’t miss the happiness dancing in her eyes, either. Making him soften, if only minutely.
My eyes ate Grayson up.
Geez, but the man was hot.
I wanted to lick him.
Preferably soon.
“Are you ready, Grayson?” I asked as I stood.
My dad was the one to answer. “Why do y’all keep calling him Grayson? The man’s name is Torren.”
I turned to my dad, the man that I’d forever compare all men to, and frowned. “You called him Trammel.”
He glared at me. “That’s ‘cause that’s what he’s called at the station. I’ve heard from the men he doesn’t like going by Grayson.”
I turned to Grayson in horror. “You don’t like being called Grayson?”
He shrugged. “It’s never been my favorite, but I answer to it. You, I don’t mind using it, though. For some reason, when you use it, it doesn’t come off as sounding quite so romance-novel-esque.”
I blinked. “Well, okay then. But I don’t want to call you something you don’t like going by.”
He shook his head. “You ready to go?”
After saying our goodbyes, I made my way down the front walk, looking at his bike in wonder. “I’ve never been on a bike before.”