Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86126 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86126 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
I could afford the place by myself, considering the terms my dad had set and the side work I was pulling on top of my regular salary but the house was way too big for one person. Thankfully, Cian and Bas had been renting some shitty apartment in town and were more than happy to rent rooms at my place instead. It worked out well for everyone.
Especially since I rarely had to come home to an empty house—which I loathed.
By the time we pulled into the driveway, Frankie had already hopped off Bas’s bike and was rolling up the garage door so we could all pull our bikes inside for the night. All of the girls knew the key codes for the garage—just in case—and while sometimes it was annoying when I came home to find them raiding my fridge, more often than not it was helpful that they could get in and out of my place. Like when they opened up that garage for us and none of us had to get off our bikes.
“Myla’s still pissed at you,” Cian murmured as we followed the girls into the house.
“She’ll get over it.”
“This about that guy grabbin’ her ass?” Bas asked. “He’s lucky it was you and not me that got to him first.”
“You saw it?” Cian asked, glaring.
“Hard to miss it,” Bas replied easily. “I was just down the bar.”
Bas was well over six feet tall. I had a feeling he could see pretty much anything in a crowd at any given moment. I glanced over at him and smirked. Between the size of him, the piercings and the tattoos, I had a feeling the asshole who’d groped Myla really would’ve pissed himself if my friend had stepped in. When I’d first met Bas, he’d had more piercings in his face than any human I’d ever seen. Over the years, after he’d patched in and settled into his place at the club, most of the piercings had disappeared one by one. He still had a ring through his bottom lip, a septum ring, and a little barbell through the skin at the bridge of his nose. I had a feeling those piercings weren’t going anywhere. He didn’t exactly look warm and cuddly.
“I don’t know why she was so worked up about it,” I said, walking toward the door to the kitchen. “All I did was scare him.”
“Your baby sister doesn’t like it when you fight,” Bas said with a sigh, his mouth pulled up in a grin.
“It wasn’t a fight,” I replied as I stepped inside the house.
“Only because I stopped you,” Myla said, glaring at me around the refrigerator door. “Do you have any of those frozen gyoza left? I want some.”
“That pussy wasn’t goin’ to fight me and they’re on the bottom shelf.” I pointed. “Why are you always eating my food?”
“Because you always buy the good shit.”
“For me.”
“Oh, zip it,” she replied, her head inside the freezer. “Found them!”
“Make some for me, yeah?” Bas asked. “I’m gonna turn on some music.”
“None of that moany bullshit you like,” Frankie called to him as she danced back into the kitchen. “Play something good.” She turned to me. “I swear to God, Titus, I almost get lost in your house every time I try to find a bathroom.”
“It’s not that big,” I argued. I needed a drink. Whenever the girls went out with us, we inevitably became their designated drivers. Now that I was in for the night, I was cracking open the bottle of whiskey I’d grabbed on the way home from work.
“Me too,” Lou said excitedly when she saw where I was headed. “On ice, please.” Her legs swung from side to side from her perch on the edge of the counter.
“Your house is that big,” Myla said with a laugh as she bustled around the kitchen, getting her supplies. “I don’t know why you bought this place.”
“It was the best one he had at the time.”
“Bullshit,” she shot back. “Mine was the best and we both know it.”
“Maybe I was lettin’ you take the good one,” I joked, making her roll her eyes. We’d both bought our houses around the same time, I’d just graduated from college and Myla had been in her sophomore year. She’d had a steady job as a barista since she was sixteen and easily convinced my parents that she could afford it before she graduated.
“What are you going to do when the boys grow up and get places of their own?” she asked seriously, pouring oil into a pan on the stove. “You’ll be bouncing around in here like a pinball. All alone.”
“Who’s movin’ out?” Bas asked.
“I’m not,” Cian replied from his spot at our old kitchen table. “Must be you.”
“Fuck that,” Bas grumbled. He leaned over my shoulder and picked up one of the glasses I’d just filled, throwing it back.