Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 119650 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119650 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
“Yep,” I say, letting out a heavy sigh. “He’ll be back in a few weeks. He’s nearly through with training, but I’m sure the second he gets home and settled, he’ll be sent right out again.”
“That sucks,” he says. “Damien’s alright. Not what I was expecting.”
“Dare I ask what you were expecting?”
He scoffs, trying to mask a smirk. “A shittier version of your mom.”
A laugh bubbles up my throat, and for a fleeting moment, guilt consumes me. I shouldn’t be laughing at comments like that. She’s my mom, but I can’t help but feel that Jensen is right. Mom has been a shitty human, and I shouldn’t feel guilty for finding amusement in my own pain. We all process the shit in our lives in different ways, and me? I need to laugh. If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry, and if I start to cry, I might not be able to stop.
Finishing up with breakfast, I quickly throw everything into the dishwasher before taking off upstairs and grabbing everything I need. Double checking the time, I realize I’m late, and as if acting as a second reminder, I hear Tanner’s bike roaring to life.
I shove my head out my window, grinning down at the sexy piece of tattooed man-meat. “Wanna give me a ride?”
Tanner glances up as he straddles his bike, looking like the most delicious kind of snack as his helmet rests under his arm. His eyes sparkle and, even from across the yard, I can tell exactly what kind of comment I’m in for. “And feel the heat of your tight little cunt pressing up against me? Fuck yeah.”
My cheeks flame as I quickly duck back inside my room, yanking the window down as I go. I fucking love it when he talks like that, so crass and dirty. It makes me feel like his personal little whore, but in a good way, not a gross kind of way. Tanner knows how to be respectable when he needs to be, but I prefer him like this. It’s raw and filthy and I love it.
Dashing downstairs, I grip onto the railing, certain that if I were to go just a fraction faster, I’ll trip and land face first into the Italian marble tiles at the bottom of the stairs.
Making my way outside, I rush toward the rumbling motorbike, excitement filling my veins. I love riding with Tanner. It’s so thrilling, even if it’s only a quick trip to school. I distantly notice the garage door rising and pay no attention to it as it doesn’t concern me, but when I get halfway across the drive, only moments from skipping over to Tanner’s property, I hear Orlando’s curt tone calling out to me.
“Brielle, a word before you take off.”
Fuck.
I consider ignoring the bastard but, finding Mom moving into his side with a ridiculous smile plastered across her face, I find myself pulling to a stop, my eyes still locked on Tanner’s as my mood plummets into the ground. Tanner’s face scrunches at seeing Mom and Orlando over my shoulder, and I can’t help but notice the way his expression darkens. Whatever Orlando said to him in that jail cell really got to him, and I hate that for him. I hate that he has to deal with Orlando’s bullshit like this. Hell, apart from everything that went down with Addison, Tanner should have nothing to do with the guy. Sure, Tanner clocked him right in the jaw, but I doubt that’s a good enough reason to make the trip down to the police holding cells and threaten my guy, especially considering he could have just waited until Tanner got home.
It makes no sense to me, but I want to trust Tanner. He told me Orlando was salty about the fact he got knocked out in front of the courthouse, and as much as I know that’s true, I can’t help but wonder if there’s something more to the story. Tanner is constantly threatened by assholes. It’s practically a requirement of being the most popular guy in school and the captain of the best high school football team in the state. They want to knock him out, they want to beat him to a pulp just for being better than them, and they let him know it with every chance they get. It’s usual sports trash talk, so having Orlando do the same shouldn’t rattle him this way.
Despite my better judgment, I hold up a finger. “One sec,” I tell him before turning and taking in Mom and Orlando standing in front of a brand-new Maserati GT Convertible. My brow arches, and as they make their way out of the garage toward me, I find myself backing up, not liking where this is going.
“SURPRISE!” Mom cheers, holding a key in her hand, a beaming smile from ear to ear. “We couldn’t wait. It came in last night.”