Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 79382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
"What is the end game here?" she asked. "Just to sleep with her? Or just to see what makes her tick and then toss her in the trash all pulled apart? Do you want something serious out of it?"
Those were good questions. Especially seeing as I hadn't exactly been Mr. Relationship in the past. What could I say? I was younger than most of the guys in the club and I liked to go out and sow my oats still. I wasn't a dick and I didn't make promises, but I enjoyed the company of many women on a temporary basis.
But most women simply didn't pique my interest. I found them easy to read, to understand, to put my finger on. And, quite frankly, I got too bored too fast to consider anything more than a short fling.
Mina wasn't boring. She was far from actually. And the tiny little snippets I had dug out of her only made me want to uncover more. But there would come a day when there would be nothing left to find. What then? Would I be bored and want to move on? Or would I be in so deep by then that there was no going back?
I wasn't the kind of man who got scared by that idea. Relationships could and should be a healthy part of most peoples' experiences. They were important. You found out some things about yourself within relationships. So the idea of giving up whoring around and enjoying coming home to the same woman? Yeah, it was appealing in a lot of ways. But it had to be the right woman.
"Can't tell you that I have a ring on deposit and plans to marry her, Penny. But I don't have plans to fuck her over either."
"Okay. That's the best you can offer right now," she said, giving me a smile. "Oh, clear out a drawer for her and about two-thirds your closet," she told me as she walked to the door. "And a drawer or three or four in the bathroom. Trust me," she added as she walked out.
So then I did just that.
And I went to bed.
And then I waited for my old lady to arrive.
Smiling the whole fucking time.
EIGHT
Mina
"I'm not dressing like a whore, Ash," I scoffed as she sat on her bunk one set over from mine and nixed all the clothes I took out of my trunk.
"I didn't say a whore. I'm just saying that you can't be hanging out at the compound dressed like you're about to go dig a well or do covert ops."
"Lo hangs out there in cargo pants and tank tops all the time," I countered.
"Yeah, but Lo is Lo," she shrugged it off. "You're you. You can't pull it off."
"Gee, thanks," I said, rolling my eyes. "I have only been dressing this way almost every day of my life for years. Nice to find out now that it doesn't suit me," I dropped down on my bunk atop a giant pile of my clothes and exhaled hard. "That's like all the clothes I have, Ash. Since you already said I can't wear the clothes I wear on business trips."
"No one is going to buy a Henchmen shacked up with a woman in a fucking pantsuit, Mina," she laughed, shaking her head. "Don't you have any jeans and girly tees or girly tanks?"
I had one pair of jeans. There was still a tag on the waistband from the store.
As if sensing my response, she hopped up. "Alright, well, we're pretty close in size. You have a slightly bigger ass than me, but I have some leggings that are forgiving."
"Leggings aren't pants," I objected immediately.
"They are if the material is thick and you can't see through them when you bend over," she shot back. "Here- black, gray, and galaxy-print. Now all you need is some basic tanks and tees. And you have a shitload of them. What about sweaters and shrugs or... right," she smiled when I gave her a blank look.
What the hell was a shrug?
I never gave much thought to my clothes. Not that I was clueless. I was just out of the loop. I grew up with a mother who kept me dressed very femininely and very modestly. Then I came across Lo who threw me in utility pants and tanks and combat boots and I just rarely ever looked back. There was no need. Most of the people I associated with, associated me with Hailstorm. There was no reason to dress any other way.
"Alright, here, I have a heather gray sweater and a wine-colored shrug and... oh, flats. You can't wear combat boots all the time."
Ashley was a favorite of mine if I were being honest. A lot of the women around Hailstorm were so incredibly over-trained and skilled that it was scary and intimidating and I felt lost when they started talking about operations and bomb-building and how to put together a gun faster. Ashley was ex-military and nurse who managed to be more... average than most of the others.