Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Ivy sets her water aside and steps up to the microphone.
The volume of the crowd lowers decibel by decibel. I grit my teeth, fighting to stay in my seat as every eye in the room focuses on her in that fucking dress. The Red Room is situated close to San Fran State, so the crowd tonight is younger than it was last night, closer to her age. The place is packed, every available seat taken.
Because of her? Possibly. Well over half the crowd is male. She has a bit of a cult following around here. Everyone knows her. Everyone loves her. Not a single person I've spoken with has had a single bad word to say about her.
Her gaze flickers in my direction again.
I meet it.
Irritation flashes in her eyes again before she turns to say something to the band. With her back to me, I have no idea what, but their amused grins and laughter make me curious.
"How y'all doing tonight?" she says into the microphone, turning back to the crowd.
Everyone claps and whistles.
"I'm fucking horny!" one guy shouts after everyone has quieted, causing laughter to erupt around the room.
I whip my head in his direction, homing in on him. He's sitting close to the stage, swaying in his seat. He's wasted. So is everyone else at his table.
"I'm sure you are," Ivy teases him before looking at me again. Her brows furrow, her ruby red lips compressing into a thin line. "I gotta ask you guys in the room, has anyone ever caught your attention, but you were too chicken shit to actually make a move so you just kind of stared all night?"
"Fuck yeah!" the same kid shouts.
Some of the girls in the crowd boo.
"Creeper!" a little redhead yells.
It doesn't deter him. He just laughs along with the room, obviously too drunk to care what anyone thinks about him.
"This one is for you then, sweetheart," Ivy says to him. When she looks at me again, a challenge in her eyes, I know she isn't talking to him though. She's talking to me. "Maybe it'll help you grow a pair."
"One, two, three!" the drummer counts off.
The first bars of Radiohead's Creep roll across the room. The crowd explodes into cheers and laughter, shouting out the chorus at the top of their lungs.
Ivy belts out the lyrics, staring right at me.
I throw my head back and laugh. Goddamn, she's something. I lift my beer bottle in a mock salute, letting her know I got her message. Loud and fucking clear. Unfortunately for me, giving her what she wants is out of the question.
She watches me as she belts out the song and shimmies on stage. Her hips roll in time to the beat, sending beads of sweat trickling down my back. My dick is pressing against my zipper so fucking hard I may have to have the teeth of it surgically removed from my flesh.
Every eye in the room is on her. She doesn't notice though. She's lost in the music, as innocent as she is beautiful.
I don't take my eyes off her until the last note of the song fades. When it does, I drain my beer and rise to my feet. If I don't get out of here now, I won't go at all. I'll claim her in front of this entire bar. I can't do that. Not yet.
Before I make a move, I need to take care of something.
And she isn't going to like it.
Her eyes follow me as I move through the crowd, headed toward the doors. The closer I get, the cooler it gets. I stop just before ducking out and turn to take one more look at her. Her eyes meet mine, the bright blue touching that same place inside it did yesterday. The one that's been empty my entire life.
When a tiny, answering grin tips her lips up at the corner, she fills that spot.
I slip outside, pulling my phone from my pocket.
"Jacoby," my partner says.
"Hey, man," I mutter, striding down the street toward my car. "Let's bring her in."
Chapter Four
Ivy
"Good morning, Miss Hazel," I call out, waving to my elderly neighbor as I jog down the front steps of my building, past her and Boo, her little terrier.
Miss Hazel's curlers are firmly in place, her bathrobe cinched tight around her thin waist. She's almost ninety and she's a hellion. So is her dog.
"Morning, honey!" She tries to rein in Boo, who wags her tail and barks, tugging against her leash in an attempt to reach me for a cuddle. "Stop that now," Miss Hazel says, snapping her fingers at her hyperactive dog.
Boo barks once more and then huffs.
"Out for your run?" Miss Hazel asks me as Boo catches sight of a moth and starts jumping up, trying to catch it.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Don't you go too far now. You're too pretty to be runnin' by yourself."