Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 108636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
“You wanna dance, sweet thing?” Buzz Cut asks me, his meaty hands already grabbing my hips, and my blood pressure skyrockets.
I make a snap decision to slip out of the dancing crowd and head toward the bar, using the ASL alphabet I learned in third grade to pretend I’m deaf when Buzz Cut calls after me. I know it’s shitty to appropriate a disability like that, but men are scary. Sometimes, moral compromise is the lesser evil.
I get a water from the bartender and slide into an empty barstool as soon as it’s vacated. I chug half the bottle before turning back to keep tabs on Avery—who is now making out with the blond.
“Great,” I mutter, a sardonic laugh that probably makes me seem mentally unstable to the people around me. But if they had any idea how many times I’ve been on crime-scene cleanup due to Avery’s fickle affection, they’d be talking to themselves too.
I try to distract myself from the likelihood of David’s impending breakdown when he sees Avery on the dance floor sucking face with some random dude by people-watching the crowd, but it gets me into even more trouble.
There’s a dark, wavy, familiar head of hair in one of the VIP sections above the dance floor, and my heart kicks up into a sprint on its chest treadmill.
Beau Banks is here, and suddenly, nothing else matters.
He doesn’t frequent clubs or bars like his sister, but it’s not out of the ordinary to see him out either. Especially on a day like today—with the way work ended in a Celebrity Deathmatch with Seth—it makes sense that he’s blowing off steam. He’s the definition of an Extroverted Introvert personality.
He’s with a few guys I recognize, friends of his I’ve met over the years because I spent more time with the Bankses than I did my own family, and his smile is showstopping, even from here.
He laughs at something his buddy Henry says, and a flock of butterflies escapes their cage inside my belly. I hang on Beau’s every silent word, trying like hell to read his lips as a blond stunner in a red bodycon dress sidles up beside him.
She’s the kind of gorgeous and sexy that’s obvious. You know the ones—big boobs and a thick ass paired with a small waist and one of those collarbones that looks ethereal or carved out of stone or something. And she’s standing so close to him that every time she laughs at whatever Beau says, her pushed-up breasts brush his arm.
In a head-to-head matchup, my gangly, long legs and overly freckled skin would get KO’ed in the first round, and yet, I find myself fantasizing wildly about him brushing her off to come talk to me instead.
I’m delusional at this point. Truly.
Sometimes, I think my life would be so much easier if I could get over my crush on Beau. But after a decade of trying to move on and failing miserably, I’m starting to think it’s going to take an exorcism or, I don’t know…death…to actually do it.
I wallow in my misery for a few minutes longer, watching the way she reaches up to brush some of Beau’s perfect hair out of his eyes, but when I feel like he’s getting a little too smiley with her, and I get that stabby, can’t-breathe level of jealousy in my chest I used to get when I watched him with his ex Bethany, I avert my attention.
“What are you drinking?”
The question feels like it comes out of nowhere, but I’m pretty sure that’s the heartbroken disassociation talking. When I look to my right, I see a man standing beside me. He’s pretty tall, has light-brown hair, gray eyes, and a nice smile that isn’t threatening or over the top. His appeal is more boy-next-door than dark and dangerous, and for once, I consider the possibility that maybe I shouldn’t immediately scare him away like I usually do with most random men who approach me in nightclubs.
Avery is always saying the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, and while I normally think she’s insane, seeing Beau smiling at big-boobed blonde bombshells is enough to shake my reality.
“Uh…water,” I answer, shrugging one shoulder as I glance down at my now half-empty bottle.
“Water?” he questions, a smirk on his mouth.
“I know,” I respond with a grin, trying on something flirty rather than my usual scowl. “Kind of lame, huh?”
“Well, that depends.”
“On what?”
“If you’re on probation or a recovering alcoholic, then it wouldn’t be lame at all. It’d be pretty smart.”
“And if I were either of those, would you still be standing here?” I test. “Or would you already be searching for your exit strategy?”
“I’d never shame someone for trying to get healthy from an addiction. But it’d definitely depend on what you’re on probation for…”