Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 76881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
I nod, scribbling down all of their orders. It'll be a miracle if I get it all right, but I do the best I can. Maybe a little food will help mellow them out. “Coming right up.”
“I like a little meat on the bones,” one of them yells after me as I walk away.
I pretend I don't hear him.
I never expected that working at a rural highway diner would be a glamorous job, but this is way worse than usual. Most of the lunch crowd that comes through here are men. Truckers, locals and seasonal workers on the nearby farms. I’ve heard my fair share of crude comments, but they usually come with a genuine smile. Nothing has made me feel unsafe. Not until now.
“Bunch of charmers, huh?” Ash, one of the busboys, says quietly to me as he walks by with a big plastic tub full of dishes. He's only a little younger than me. Probably just graduated high school. Skinny as a rail with tattoos all over his wiry arms. He's an okay guy, but I don't want to get close to anyone. For my sake and theirs. I'm just passing through anyway. Hopefully in a few more days I’ll be off to the east coast, far away from anyone who might know me.
“Yeah, real classy,” I grumble under my breath, then yell the order to the kitchen while I clip the sheet up for the cook to see.
I'm just topping off the second pitcher when the glasses start to rattle, and then I feel a rumble travel through the floor and up my legs. Motorcycles, big heavy models, roll right up in front of the windows and the engines cut off. I don’t have time to register more than leather vests, dusty jeans and boots before the table from hell yells at me to hurry up. Ash shakes his head in commiseration as I push past him with a pitcher in each hand.
“I’ll throw in a ten if you pour one of these over your shirt,” ribs guy says with a sneer. “Twenty if you’re sitting on my lap when you do it.”
I laugh, pretending to think he’s joking as I drop off the pitchers. “Food will be up soon.”
The front door chimes, so I grab a stack of menus and turn to the door.
And stop dead in my tracks.
Wow.
Dark, mossy pupils with jade flecks widen when the biker sees me, like he's spotted something he likes, but his expression gives nothing away. My pulse spikes immediately, adrenaline surging while my two working brain cells spin out of control on the hamster wheel in my skull. His short hair is thick and dark, with just a hint of red in it. A closely trimmed beard traces the outline of his defined jaw. He's built strong, his black T-shirt clinging to him in all the right places underneath his biker vest. Dark tattoos snake up his bare, muscled arms, and narrow hips give him that perfect upside down V-shape of someone who works his body hard.
I wet my bone dry lips, swallowing thickly as I try to remember what I’m supposed to be doing.
He rakes that emerald gaze from my face, all the way down to my feet and right back up. If he was a book, his cover would say: ‘Content warning: do not read in public’. And I get the feeling he isn’t even trying. Just by existing, he’s making me wonder if I should forget all my troubles and go for a ride.
“Uh…”
He grins. “Got room for three?”
Oh right. This is planet earth. I'm at work. Just not doing a very good job of it. I don't trust my voice to come out as more than a squeak, so I nod and gesture towards a booth by the window.
“Table, if you don’t mind.” He plucks a menu out of my hand and heads towards an empty spot.
Once he looks away, my heartbeat settles for a moment.
And then speeds right back up.
Two more men walk in, wearing the same kind of leather vest. The first is a giant, with a thick beard and a shaved head. Thick brows emphasize his deep blue eyes, and he grins when he sees me staring. I can’t look at him without wondering what it would be like to have those big, strong arms around me, and to rest my head on the center of his broad chest. Would it be smooth? Fuzzy? Covered in tattoos? He's pure bulk. His gray T-shirt is straining at the seams, and his jeans are so tight over his thighs that I can make out how his corded muscles move as he walks. He could take three of me and juggle us without breaking a sweat.
He reaches out and takes a menu from my frozen hand. Naked bodies writhe together in a colorful tattoo sleeve that starts at his left wrist and vanishes into his shirt. I can’t look away, shocked to see just about every sex position I can imagine and some I couldn't until just now. It's like a big knotwork puzzle, except it's all porn. Expertly drawn, but porn. My face glows hot, and I don't know if I'm embarrassed, scandalized, or just plain turned on.