Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 117379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
That single-parenting shit was exhausting just to watch. I couldn’t imagine actually being in her shoes.
The door jingled as it opened.
“I’m sorry, we’re close—” I started to say, then broke out in a smile when I saw it was Hunter. I supposed eventually I’d get to the point when I didn’t feel totally giddy every time I saw him, but we weren’t there yet.
“You get off work early?” I asked. He’d started a regular job at a mechanic’s shop two weeks ago, although they seemed to be unusually flexible with his hours. I figured there was a story there. I also figured I’d probably never hear it. So far as I could tell, the shop was heavily financed by the Devil’s Jacks. At least he didn’t lie about it—Hunter had been painfully truthful with me ever since our fight over the pictures. This was a double-edged sword, something I discovered the first time I asked him whether an old sweater of Kit’s made me look fat.
(Apparently it did.)
“Burke’s in town,” he said shortly. Then he jerked his chin toward the two hipsters hoarding their tepid tea dregs in the corner. “Why are they still here? You closed half an hour ago.”
I shrugged.
“Chasing out customers feels wrong to me.”
Hunter’s mouth tightened, and he walked across the room, grabbing a chair from their table and sitting down across from them. Their eyes widened as he leaned back in the seat. He reached down and pulled out the large Buck knife he kept strapped to his leg, starting to clean his oil-stained fingernails.
“See that fuckin’ gorgeous babe over there?” he asked Hipster One, jerking his chin toward me. “That’s my woman. I’d love some time alone with her right now, but she’s stuck waiting for you little posers to leave, even though the shop closed thirty minutes ago and you’re probably not even going to leave a tip. Seems wrong to me, somehow. What do you think?”
Hipster Two spoke hesitantly.
“I think we were just leaving.”
“Good to know,” Hunter replied politely. “Don’t forget the tip.”
Hipster Two nodded, standing and digging in his pocket as Hipster One grabbed his gratuitously ironic leather briefcase, swallowing. They started toward the door, but Hunter cleared his throat pointedly.
“Seems like a pretty small tip,” he said. “Those shoes you’re wearing cost close to two hundred bucks, so I think you can afford to do better. Or were they a present from Mommy and Daddy?”
I frowned as they dug in their pockets again, then decided I should put a stop to this. God help poor Cookie if they got mad enough to start trolling us—they certainly had enough spare time.
“You’re fine,” I said, opening the door for them. “I’m sure whatever you left is great, and I hope you’ll come back again when we’re open.”
“Um, right,” Hipster One said as they scuttled out the door, leaving me alone with Hunter. I slid the bolt closed and lowered the shade, turning to face him.
“Was that really necessary?”
He stood and started stalking toward me.
“Absolutely,” he muttered, eyes darkening. I knew that look.
“Hunter, this is my work,” I protested. He reached out and caught my hair in one hand, twisting it in his fingers as he jerked me into his kiss. I tried to hold back, but his tongue attacked my lips and then he was inside. It was all over and we both knew it.
God, I loved the taste of him.
He kept kissing me as he backed me toward a table against the inner wall. I’d shut all the big window shades already, so we had total privacy, but this still felt very wrong. My ass bumped into the table, waking me to the reality of the situation.
If I didn’t do something, Hunter was going to fuck me right here in the middle of Cookie’s shop.
I needed to stop him.
But then his hand found my breast, and he started kneading it roughly. Damn, but that felt good. Tingling arousal started swirling through my body. Hunter pulled away abruptly to frown at me.
“What?”
“Burke wants to meet you.”
“Burke, your national president?” I asked, eyes widening. “Why?”
“Hell if I know. He’s a cagey old bastard.”
His hands slid down my side, catching my skirt and tugging it upward.
“When are we meeting him?” I asked, trying to focus. It was almost impossible, because the skirt was bunching around my waist and he’d found the bare skin of my ass, exposed by my thong. Hunter’s hands tightened on me, and he tugged me forward into his hips. His cock was hard and ready to go, which made it almost impossible to breathe, let alone pay attention to his words.
“He’s in town already, at the Panther, right down the street,” he murmured, massaging my ass. A finger slid toward my crease and worked its way under the thong. He’d been doing that more and more lately.