Total pages in book: 178
Estimated words: 169578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 848(@200wpm)___ 678(@250wpm)___ 565(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 848(@200wpm)___ 678(@250wpm)___ 565(@300wpm)
“Can I get some fucking service?” she yelled, her voice lost in the din of the crowd as the pulsating music rattled her bones.
Some would say she had anger issues, but that was crap. She was a very nice person to those who deserved it.
Stealthily digging her elbow in the ribs of some stool hog, she leaned over and whistled at the bartender. The acrid smell of booze, sweat, and sex tickled her nose as her eyes adjusted to the blue strobe lights flickering throughout the club.
The chick lifted a pencil-thin brow and proceeded to ignore Delilah. Whatever. It was her tip.
“It looks like someone spilled a crayon box on you,” the stool hog next to her commented, his gaze roaming over Delilah’s skin without invitation.
Great. Another insightful boomer who thought it was appropriate to share his unwanted, outdated opinions and hang out in a club with a clientele three generations younger. These judgmental relics were all the same. They still used fax machines, misogyny, and Facebook.
She tried not to look directly at him because guys like this mistook basic eye contact for a rapt audience. The moment they thought they had someone’s attention, the offensive jokes would start. No, thank you.
If she could just get her drink she’d get out of his way. Impatiently tapping her nail on the lacquered bar, she waited for the bartender to take her order.
“Let me ask you something,” Stool Hog continued, swiveling to fully face her with his protruding gut.
Delilah angled her eyeballs in his direction without moving her head. That was all he was getting.
“What would make a pretty young girl like yourself cover your skin in all that crap?”
Here we go… “I like it.”
“I don’t understand why women do that to themselves. A woman’s body is a work of art.”
Turning completely, she eyed her annoying companion. “I don’t understand why men who aren’t starring in a 1970’s porn flick have mustaches, but that didn’t make you shave that caterpillar off your face or toss out that dead cat of a toupee you’re trying to pass off as hair, did it? To each his own.”
“Oh, you’re one of them.” He stilled then laughed. “You’ll regret those tattoos, just wait.”
“Thanks for the prophecy, Nostradamus.” She leaned over the bar and yelled, “Can I please get some service?”
“Imagine what you’ll look like when you’re old and wrinkled.”
Her molars locked. “I’m guessing I’d probably look something like everyone else that age, but prettier and more interesting.”
He chuckled as if they were friends. “You’re a feisty little thing.”
The bartender finally made her way over. Delilah stood on the foot-rail and shouted, “Can I get a red-headed slut and a Guinness?”
With a nod, she rushed off to fill the order and Delilah anxiously waited, hoping to slam her shot, grab her beer, and get the hell away from google-eyed-boomer. Gazing straight ahead, her knee bounced as her foot balanced on the lowest rung of the stool.
“You know,” Stool Hog started again. “There are laser treatments now. You could get them removed.”
Mother. Fucker. This guy didn’t know when to stop.
“You could probably find one in the area—”
“Look,” she snapped, cutting off any more of his pedantic bullshit. “If my tattoos bother you so much, maybe you should find someone else to ogle. I don’t remember asking for your fucking opinion or even sending you a signal that I was remotely interested in what you thought. Look at me and look at you. You’re older than my dad. No wonder you don’t get it.”
“You’ve got quite a mouth on you.”
“And I bite.”
“I bet.” His gaze dropped and he leaned in, moving to touch her, but she jerked back.
“Hands off, dude. Find yourself a geriatric center and have some pudding with people your own age.”
“That’s the problem with you young people—”
“How about you shut the fuck up about things you’re too fucking closed-minded to understand, and let me order my goddamn drink in peace?”
He scowled. It should have been enough to end any further dialogue, but the dickhead was enslaved by his ego and couldn’t resist hearing himself talk. “I was just going to say—”
“I believe you were saying goodnight,” a deep voice cut off Stool Hog’s response, and Delilah stilled as the fine hairs on her neck lifted with awareness as the new ink on her wrist tingled.
She slowly rotated her body to look up. Holy shit. Her mouth fell open as she gaped at the gorgeous man. Tall, with dark wavy brown hair, a strong jaw, a straight nose, and bright crystalline eyes lined with thick, dark lashes stared back at her.
Come to mama.
The boomer also pivoted. “This is a private conversation.”
That stunning face locked on the boomer, his eyes brimming with unflinching promise. How could anyone so menacing also be so damn beautiful? “The lady asked you to leave her in peace, did she not?”