Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
But the internet had already caught on. The photos had been shared and copied thousands and thousands of times already, and I knew damn well that there were probably already a zillion gossip blogs writing up posts about my scandalous photos.
Oopsie.
I lay on my back again, letting the sun hit my skin. God, it felt good to think of Emmett seeing those photos.
I wished I could see his reaction. Would he gasp? Clutch at his chest? Be so very shocked at my naked body?
My cock throbbed at the thought.
Fuck, I was getting hard from this. Did I really like the idea of screwing with Emmett enough to get a boner?
It was undeniable, though. I reached down to grip my cock, which was hardening even more now, thinking of Emmett seeing my photos. It felt deviously good, thinking of him seeing me nude. I liked the idea of getting under his skin, but I also knew he was gay.
I liked the idea that he might also get turned on, all while being pissed off.
…Kind of like I was turned on right now, retaliating against his kiss-ass gift basket and its stupid fall theme.
Of course you made it fall-themed, you fucker, I thought to myself as I stroked my cock. Can’t stand the thought that I’m not just like you, can you?
I pictured Emmett’s eyes on me. Those calculating, shrewd eyes. The idea of all his attention being on me, even when he didn’t want it to be. The idea of him having to spend time with me. Having to be around me, even if he hated it.
The idea of him watching me.
I’ll show you exactly who I am, I thought.
I gripped my cock firmly and groaned as I came, way faster than usual, pushing my back deeper into the grass through the blanket.
“Fuck me,” I muttered under my breath, looking down to see I’d painted myself in white streaks, all the way up my stomach.
That had come out of nowhere. Not that I was going to complain about a good orgasm, but… what the hell?
I wasn’t usually that into revenge.
Maybe it really had been too long since I’d hooked up with a woman.
So maybe I’d do that tonight.
The Fixer Brothers had invited me out to some celebratory drinks at Jade Brewery, and I was certain I could find a fun woman to take home with me.
That was probably all I needed.
5
EMMETT
I was going to kill him.
I was going to drink a lot of whiskey first, and figure out the best way to kill him, before I lunged at him the moment he walked through the Jade Brewery doors—but either way, there was no shot Storm Rosling was getting out of here without giving me answers.
“Another,” I told Rush from across the bar. “Little more, this time, if you can spare it? I tip very, very well.”
Rush glanced up at me, lifting an eyebrow. “Just gave you a shot about twenty seconds ago. You sure about this next one?”
“I can hold my liquor,” I said, and he gave me a wry smile.
Jade Brewery was a riot of music and laughter around us. Shawn, Nathan, Charlie, and other guys from the Fixer Brothers crew were scattered throughout the dance floor, some booths, and a pool table near the corner.
I’d gotten so used to ritzy, fancy, overly clean bars and lounges, and it made Jade Brewery feel a little bit like being in a chaotic wooden tavern in a fantasy novel.
Ring stains on every wood surface. Big metal brewing tanks on one side that sometimes clanked and beeped and gave off steam. A jukebox that people actually sometimes had to hit the side of to make it work again. It felt like at any moment, some adventurer might burst through the front doors, demanding ingredients for a potion.
I was pretty sure Rush would welcome anyone to hop on top of the bar and start doing a dance.
“I’ll give you this whiskey, but I’m watching you,” Rush said kindly as he poured my drink.
“Thank you,” I said. “Shawn told me you treat people well.”
“Shawn is the love of my life, and I think about him more than anyone else,” Rush said. “But I care about every person who walks through those doors, okay?”
“He might be right, Em,” Landry told me. “You’re chugging whiskey like you’re a grizzled old man in a saloon.”
Landry had come with me tonight as a designated driver, and also because he knew I’d been thinking too hard about cracking the problem that was Storm Rosling.
“Now’s not the time to deny me alcohol, Lucky,” I told him. He laughed.
Just about everyone called Landry “Lucky.” He kept me grounded when I was stressed, and I’d been leaning on him more in the past couple of years. We’d worked alongside each other at Lux Marketing for a long time, and he’d become so much more than just a colleague—he was my best friend, and just as much of a marketing bloodhound as I was. Sharp, kind, and great at what he did.