Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
He waved his hand, motioning up and down my body. “The black hair…leather jacket…permanent scowl. You’re basically the cliché bad boy in every teen show. All you’re missing are the tattoos. I heard Remy at Indelible Ink is good.”
I couldn’t help it; a loud laugh jumped out of my mouth. “First, fuck off. Second, and you’re not a cliché? Rich boy jock, check. Blond hair, check.” He shook it out of his eyes. It was messy, longer on top but shorter underneath, the strands flying every which way and flopping onto his forehead. “Blue eyes, check. Asshole, check.”
“Oh, ouch.” Ty grabbed his heart. “And here I thought you liked me.”
I leaned over the counter, mouth close to his ear. I breathed in, the scent of his cologne invading my senses. Somehow he smelled like a jock. Did jocks have a scent? Ty did, like grass, fresh air, and physical exertion. “You. Wish.” And then, because I didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought of me, especially him, I swiped my tongue out and licked his earlobe before pulling back.
Ty jerked away, his pupils blown wide in a look I couldn’t read. “What the fuck, man? I don’t know where your tongue has been.”
“And you never will, Lacrosse.”
“Thank fuck for that.”
“Why don’t you go play with your friends and let the adults do grown-up stuff.”
“Whatever, Sunshine,” he countered.
“Yikes. That one hurt.”
“Yo! Ty! Get your ass over here!” one of his jockholes called just as I heard, “Bartender, can I get a drink?”
Ty gave me a smirk and a wink before walking away.
I made drinks as Shenanigans got busier. When my gaze found his, he was touching his earlobe where I’d licked him, and damned if it didn’t make me smile.
It was almost three in the morning when I slowed my motorcycle down in front of the house my brother, Asher, and I had lived in on and off with our grandma for most of our life. Dad had lived there too sometimes, but he was always coming and going, in and out of jail, currently incarcerated. Gram had moved into an assisted-living facility a few months earlier. She was one of my favorite people in the world, so I was still getting used to that.
Asher, on the other hand, was taking advantage of it the way he did most things. He was exactly like our dad that way.
The driveway was packed with cars, some spilling down the street. Muffled music from inside drifted on the salty air. Grandpa had bought the house in the eighties. It had been his and Grandma’s dream to have a place in San Luco, not far from San Diego. Now, neither of them was around to enjoy it, Grandpa having died fifteen years earlier.
I was still on edge from my run-in with Ty. He’d ended up going home with some chick. It was always a toss-up for him—girl or guy—and tonight it had been a blonde. He’d licked her ear while looking at me, the fucker.
I drove onto the lawn and around back because I didn’t trust any of the drunk-ass people inside not to hit my ride when they left. I’d worked my ass off, fixing it up. My Harley Sportster was my baby.
I pushed the kickstand down and turned it off. I was tired as shit and wanted nothing more than to go to bed, but I needed to get some schoolwork done. Either option would likely be impossible. Clearly, the party wasn’t dying down anytime soon.
The moment I entered the kitchen through the back door, I saw a few guys holding my brother’s legs in the air while he did a keg stand, because of fucking course he was. Asher was two years older than me, but you’d never know it.
The house was packed, some of them chanting chug, chug, chug as Asher drank. The scent of weed tickled my nostrils, mixed with sweat, alcohol, and maybe puke. Typical night at the Walker house.
When they flipped Asher back onto his feet, he stumbled slightly, hand out to hold on to the wall so he didn’t fall, before his gaze caught mine. “Braxton! My little fucking brother is home. Someone get drink him…get him a drink… Did I say that right?”
I cocked a brow. “You’re an idiot.” I had to speak loudly so he could hear me over the music and the people.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Shut up.”
“Shut up.”
“How old are you?”
“How old are—”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Asher.” I was surrounded by morons all the time, which immediately made me think of Ty. It made sense because he was a dumbass, but I also wanted him out of my head. He took up entirely too much space there. It sucked wanting to have sex with someone you hated. My dick needed to get with the program, but when it came to jocks, I seemed to lose my head. Well, one other time I had, at least.