Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Walking up to the woman, I step in front of him and offer her a smile. “Your friend asked me to save you,” I tell her. Her eyes go wide, and she nods. Then she leans in and whispers, “Thank you,” before she hurries off.
“Man, that was so uncool. I could have had her if you hadn’t interrupted,” he grumbles.
“You think?” I turn around to face him.
He nods. This idiot is obviously a dickhead who never outgrew being the star quarterback in high school and thought every person wanted him.
How wrong he is.
“Yes, she was into me. Then you came along.” He shakes his head. “Fucking hell, two down tonight.”
“Two? That’s a bad night for you,” I comment.
He runs his hand through his hair. “You’re telling me. The first one was a bitch and wouldn’t even consider coming back to my place after dinner.”
I maintain my smile and try to keep the anger that dances along my skin at bay. “Then you might be interested in what I have to offer. I have a bunch of women outside, ready to fuck, if that’s what you’re after. Not these fidgety bitches.” I look around the room as if to include all the women here, and my insides crawl at my words.
He clearly missed the lesson on respecting women.
But that’s okay.
I’m here to teach him.
Some people learn the hard way.
“For real? Hell yeah, man. You are awesome.” He slaps my back, and it takes everything in me not to punch him in the face. He follows me when I stand and start through the crowd.
“You had a date earlier?” I ask.
“Yeah, she was hot. But she wasn’t eager, you know? She needs a lesson on how to please and respect men.” He doesn’t question it as we walk through to the bar’s back exit, and the door shuts behind us. Just us two in a rundown, trash-littered alleyway.
I stop and face him. “Some women are just bitches. Do they not get we’re only here to get our cocks wet? Like, fuck.”
He shakes his head, and that’s when he finally looks around. When his gaze returns to me, he asks, “Where are the hoes at?”
And before I can stop myself, my fist connects with his face. He stumbles back, and I punch him again, watching as he spits out one of his front teeth.
He screams and grips his mouth as it pools with blood.
“You think it’s okay to disrespect women, and what? Leave them with the bill?” I ask angrily.
“Fuck you,” he yells and charges at me.
I quickly sidestep him, his anger propels him forward, and it’s too late for him to pull back as I put my foot out and trip him. He falls face-first to the ground. The crack is loud as his face connects with the concrete. At first, I think he’s been knocked out, that is, until he groans and rolls over.
Bad move. I lift my foot and glare down at him.
“If I find out you ever disrespect a woman like that again, you’ll have a bullet in your head.” I bring my foot down hard between his legs. I wince as I hear a pop, knowing that is the worst type of pain, but I’m sure he’s inflicted worse. Men like him don’t listen when a woman says no.
He sobs, tears falling from his eyes as I reach down and grab his wallet. I pull out a wad of fifties and his credit card. Taking them, I walk away, dropping his wallet to the ground, and head back into the bar. I slap his card down on the counter and look at the bartender.
“Charge everyone’s drinks to this card.” The bartender nods as if he knows what happened in the alley but says nothing as he takes it. I walk out without another word. I give Henry the stack of fifties and tell him, “Send this to Honey.” He knows who she is. He’s looking over my shoulder as if he expects the other guy to return. When he realizes he isn’t coming back any time soon, he nods and walks off without further questions.
CHAPTER 18
Honey
Some young kid is standing at my door.
“How old are you?” I ask.
“Twenty-one,” he answers, still trying to hand me money.
“So why are you trying to give me that?” I ask, nodding to the money.
“You’re owed it from your date. He’s repaying you.”
“Why?” My arms are folded over my chest.
“Please take it, miss. I want to go to bed.” I look at it again.
“You take it. Buy yourself some alcohol and get drunk,” I tell him.
“I earn good money, I don’t need this.”
“Okay, give it to someone who does need it. There is a homeless man—”
“Yes, we know. You make him food most days.”
“Who did you say you were again?” I ask. No one knows that except for Marco. And I don’t make the man food. If I have leftovers—which is almost always because I cook way more than I can eat on my own—I give them to him. He’s always so nice to me when I see him.