Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81009 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81009 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
“The woman last time you were here—it was her, wasn’t it?” he asked. “The one who had you fucking wrapped up back in Ocala, then sent you into a spiral when she left.”
Don’t want to think about her, Brick.
I just nodded.
“Thought so. She hasn’t changed much. Her body is a woman’s now, but that’s about it. You see her again?”
“She’s married,” I said, not looking at him. I was watching a couple of the club sluts, trying to decide who I wanted to replace Amethyst with.
“I noticed the rings. But figured you’d still seek her out. Hadn’t seen you act that way over a bitch since. Those are the kind that stick with you.”
I’d like to fucking burn her from my soul. But it seemed that was impossible.
“Long time ago, Brick.”
He sighed. “Is it though?”
The scowl on my face was a mere fraction of my annoyance. “Yeah, it fucking is. Another life. We were different people.”
She belonged to someone else now.
“You grew up, but that’s about all that’s changed. At least for you.”
My back molars were sore from all the grinding of my teeth I’d been doing the past two weeks. Brick wasn’t helping.
I pointed at the new girl who was with the prospects and Tracy, one of our trashiest club whores. “Who’s she?” I asked.
She was blonde. That would make it harder for me to imagine Salem. Maybe that would stop this shit.
“Fuck if I know,” he replied, barely glancing her way.
She turned her head, and a pair of brown eyes met mine. Nothing like cornflower blue. Yeah, she’d be perfect.
I curled my finger for her to come to me, and she beamed as she sauntered through the others. Lots of leg. Tits weren’t real, but they were big. I liked that. Pierced belly button was sexy.
When she reached me, Brick stood up. He didn’t say anything, but I knew he wasn’t about to get caught at a table with a club slut. Goldie would lose her shit.
I set my beer down and patted my thigh for her to sit down. The short dress she was wearing might expose her pussy when she did. Another pro, in my opinion.
“What’s your name, darlin’?” I asked her as I checked out her nipples poking through the fabric.
She was already excited. Good.
“Nixie,” she said in a breathy voice.
Hell, if she was this worked up already, I’d take her out to my bike and let her suck me off now. Might take the edge off.
“Did you go by the art gallery or not?” Pepper’s voice interrupted me slipping my hand between Nixie’s thighs.
Why the fuck did she care? I didn’t want to think about that day. I didn’t want to think about Salem. Why couldn’t everyone shut the hell up about her?
“No,” I lied.
“Huh. I was sure you would. So, you don’t know if she got the job?”
I swung my eyes to Pepper. “I don’t give a fuck.”
She rolled her eyes as if she didn’t believe me, then walked off, as if I had annoyed her instead of the other way around. As I slipped my hand up Nixie’s leg, she made a pleased sound and opened her legs for me. As nice as it was that she was so willing to let me finger her cunt in public, I knew I’d have Pepper back over here, bitching.
“Come on, darlin’. You can bend over my bike and spread these pretty legs for me.” And I’d do my fucking best to keep my eyes open.
10
Salem
I had made notes. Several, in fact.
My first day on the job had included the kickoff of a new exhibition. The artist was brilliant with his photo-realistic paintings. The Light Within included forty of his works, displaying the faces of people in raw, emotional states.
Kendrix had pulled this one together since they had been in the market for a new curator at the time. He’d done a good job, but there were some things that needed to be tweaked. Hence my notes. By day three, we should have sold more of the paintings. Advertisement was lacking.
Having thrown myself into the new job and researching the best way to reach new customers, I had neglected my new apartment. All my things were in boxes still. I’d been living out of them the past week.
The house back in Boston had sold within two days, which made things easier in a way. Packing things up had been hard.
I’d told Eamon’s parents that they could come over to go through his things and take what they wanted. His mother had been sure to make several scathing comments about the house being sold, my moving back to Florida, and packing away Eamon’s life. When they left, I drank a bottle of wine and cried.
But three days later, I’d gotten in my car and driven south. Both sorrow and relief flooded me when I drove away from the empty house that had been our home. Starting over, a new life, moving on—it was terrifying.