Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
I grabbed the pillow, curling it around my head. I should have left her ass downstairs. I could not deal with drunk girl ramblings. “Don’t you need to throw up or something by now?”
“Nope. Just laying here. With your dickness.”
The noise from Hendrix’s TV drifted beneath the door, filling the silence. For a second, I thought she’d passed out, but then the mattress bounced. Springs creaked when she sat up abruptly and scooted to the edge of the bed. She wriggled out of her shorts, then the fishnets. Thanks to the streetlight’s electric haze coming in through my window, I could just make out how great her ass looked in a thong before she fell back beside me.
Switch flipped back to game on.
“Don’t even think about it,” she said, like she could read the thoughts running amuck in my mind. “I’m hot.”
The number of times I had heard shit like that from girls. Ten seconds later, they were touching me, teasing me. Grabbing my dick. I was screwing Monroe tonight, she knew it. And now, I knew it. Like those little shorts made a difference in how hot she was. Yeah, right.
Fighting the smirk, I rubbed a hand down my stomach, over my hardening dick. Any second now...
“I’m not fucking you.” She poked two fingers against my chest, then shoved at me.
I felt my brow furrow. This was not how this shit usually went. It was the “I’m hot”. I’m not like this. Followed by a kiss and them getting naked, shoving my dick down their throats while repeating how unlike “this” they were.
“Oh my God. You really thought I would, didn’t you?” She laughed.
I fisted my cock, then turned on the pillow to glare at her through the dark. “You’re the one half-naked in my bed.”
“Oh, yeah. Please. Zepp.” The condescending, monotone pitch to her voice grated at my nerves. “Screw my brains out.” She rolled away, laughing. “I don’t understand how you ever get laid.”
It shouldn’t have bothered me. She was one girl out of a million—and I guessed, maybe that was why it did bother me. She was the girl who had managed to catch my attention and the only one who didn’t want it. “I think you do,” I said.
“What? They don’t care that you’re a dick?”
“They aren’t exactly here for my personality.” I shifted closer, my dick pressing against her thigh when I went to nip at her ear, and I didn’t miss the way her breath hitched a little. “Are they, Roe?”
Her palm met my chest, her brows tugging together. “That’s kinda sad,” she whispered, then shoved me back.
My jaw tensed. That was a dose of reality I hadn’t asked for. Especially from her drunk ass, but I refused to give her the satisfaction. “Says the girl hung up on a Barrington piece of shit.” I held her gaze, waiting for something to break. But it never did.
“Do you just want him to be a piece of shit? Because he’s rich?”
She thought I was jealous of the little shit? “Fuck you, Monroe.” I shoved away, settling onto my pillow and staring at the wall.
Maybe she was into the materialistic bullshit, the idol worship of Barrington and their money. Their money didn’t make them any different than the assholes in Dayton; it just gave them different problems. Maybe she didn’t have any depth after all.
The silence of the ghetto filled the room. “He’s actually not bad,” she said.
I waited. Jaw tensed, blood pressure ticking up second by second. She thought he was a good guy, and he thought she was a worthless whore. One he could hit.
“Are you really going to do that, Monroe? You really going to defend him?” My mom always defended those assholes because of what their money could do for us if she could only tie one down. I wanted Monroe to be better than that.
“You don’t know him.” She huffed and rolled over. And that was often the excuse my mother gave: You don’t know him.
Silence engulfed us, but it did little to settle the anger rumbling underneath my skin. I’d seen the damn bruises. I didn’t need to know him.
* * *
I woke to someone banging a fist on my door.
“If that’s the quarterback, give him my regards.” I swatted an arm out, but my hand met empty sheets. Another series of loud bangs rattled up the stairwell. “Wake up, assholes!” Bellamy’s voice came through the window beside my bed. “We’ve got a problem!”
“Shit.” I threw the covers off, grabbing my jeans, and stepping into them on my way to the stairs.
Bellamy continued to beat on the door. I was ready to punch him by the time I opened it.
“You don’t know how to answer a phone?” He paced the entranceway, elbows out, hands cupped behind his head before he shot off to the kitchen. “We gotta get the weed outta here.”