Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
I shuffle back again and giggle.
“No foolin’? You look mature for your age.”
I almost flinch. Huge ick that my fake age just encourages the pig.
“I can look like a lot of things. But, um, aren’t you a little old? No offense.”
“Age is a hell of a number. Say, you’ve got pretty eyes.” His hand drifts to my thigh and I swipe it away roughly. “Such long legs, too. Don’t be a tease, little lady.”
I shrug.
“Thanks. I grew them myself, but they also have an age limit. Sorry.”
Undaunted, he licks his lips and leans closer.
Disgusting.
If I had to guess, he thinks he’s a young stud here when he’s probably in his late thirties. But I don’t have to guess.
His strong cologne nearly knocks me out, and his dark hair is slicked back and tapered like a skunk.
“Quit fucking around. You’re the hottest girl in this bar,” he breathes, the beer heavy on his breath. No clue how many he’s had, but it’s five too many.
“I’m the only girl at this bar right now,” I say. The only pathetically single one, anyway, judging by a couple older women with men in the corner. “But look, I’m not interested. Wanna take a hint?”
That wandering hand grips my arm, tightening.
“Sounds like you don’t date much,” he growls. “I’m paying your tab.”
“Which is totally illegal. I’m underage.”
“Bullshit. How old are you really?”
“Old enough to know a few drinks don’t entitle your touchy ass to anything.” I’ve had it. I try to shake him off, but he won’t budge. “Seriously. Let go, dude.”
I don’t get worried until he laughs.
“Like hell. I can show you a good time, missy. I’m staying the night below deck.”
Sweet Jesus.
If I hadn’t finished my drink, it would be dripping off his face right now.
At least I’m wearing heels. I know from personal experience they can do some damage when they slam into a man’s—
“Excuse me,” a deep voice rumbles smoothly from the side.
I turn to see coppery-brown hair, sharp blue eyes, and a jawline worthy of the Himalayas. It’s Mr. Twelve from earlier, and he’s younger up close, maybe mid-twenties.
He’s also standing close enough to touch, looking mighty pissed.
Then he does touch me, placing a hand on my shoulder and stroking his way down to my hand.
This is it.
My end.
I’m going to die right here on this riverboat by spontaneous combustion. Or maybe I’m already dead from too many drinks and this is a weird kind of afterlife.
Touchy-Feely narrows his eyes at Mr. Twelve.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Her fiancé—and you must be the clown asking stupid questions,” Twelve lies—and so convincingly I believe him for a split second. “The question is, how long do I give you?”
“What? What the hell are you saying, man?” He fumbles for a second and finally releases me.
“That’s what I thought.” Twelve pulls me off the chair and into his arms. “You okay, baby?”
With you? I’m okay personified.
He’s dreamy. Positively sinful up close, which rarely ever happens, and he has the shoulders of an angry god, tensed like steel as he holds me.
“I’ll live,” I whisper, a little too breathlessly.
“Get your legs working,” he growls at Touchy-Feely, who tries to slam down the rest of his beer. Twelve grabs it out of his hand and thunks it on the counter. “I meant right now, genius. I’m giving you a very generous ten-second head start. If you’re not gone by the end of my countdown, I’ll see you in the river.”
Holy. Crap.
The other man lets out a startled grunt, stares for two seconds, and then runs out of the room.
I turn back to my hero and smile.
And when he smiles back, clearly proud of thinking quick on his feet, it makes my knees wobble.
“Please tell me you’re not actually eighteen,” he says.
“Oh, jeez. You heard that?” I straighten my dress and step back. “Before you accuse me of underage drinking, I promise I’m twenty-one. Got my ID in here somewhere to prove it…”
He puts his hand gently on mine as I fumble for my purse.
“Don’t bother. I don’t need it.”
“Oh, um, okay.”
“Just couldn’t help noticing you were alone and stuck with that greasy fuck. Cruel of your friends to leave you marooned with these piranhas. You with Kayla?”
So he knows her. Not a shock, I guess.
He doesn’t know my name, of course. I’m not sure we should even bother introducing ourselves, but maybe I can forge a new identity for tonight. He’ll never know.
“Are you another piranha man?” I ask.
“Not tonight,” he says with another smile that slays. “Just a handsome stranger.”
“Did I say you were handsome?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Nah. I can hear your thoughts.”
Oh my God, I’m laughing.
There’s no way this guy doesn’t know how freakishly gorgeous he is, but there’s also no chance I’m about to play into his ego.
“Well, I suppose you’re not bad,” I say, following his lead as he strolls across the room. “Where are we going?”