Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
We make small talk after she gets over the initial jolt of seeing me here, but I don’t miss the mild disappointment in her eyes. I know it’s because I’m not Quinten. Maybe she showed up this evening hoping on the same off chance I was that he’d be here.
I help her with her breathing after she complains about not being able to hit the target as often as she’d like and bide my time to ask about her friend.
It’s glaringly obvious that Parker hasn’t mentioned what transpired between the two of us, and after I leave, I don’t really know how to feel about it. On one hand, I haven’t told my best friend what went down, but I chalked that up to not wanting to be an asshole bragging about a night spent with the woman. On the other hand, I assumed all women gossiped about the sex they were having.
Is it possible that she didn’t have a good time? I felt the flutter of her orgasm against my mouth, so I know she wasn’t faking it. Although I’ve never had a bad orgasm, after being with her, I now know the difference between good and amazing. Mine were incredible, but maybe it wasn’t the same for her. Where I know I should feel disappointed, that thought just makes me want to prove to her that I can bring her amazing pleasure. Practice makes perfect and all that.
I smile as I crawl into bed, knowing I’ll get the chance to see her again in a few days. If I focus between now and then, maybe I’ll have the courage to convince her to give me another chance even though she made it blatantly clear that it could never happen again.
The way she kissed me before I walked away made me wonder if she didn’t exactly mean it when she made that declaration.
Chapter 10
Parker
I don’t feel good about lying to Hayden about having to work tonight instead of attending the shooting class. She didn’t call me on it, but we both know that my job is pretty open to letting me pick and choose my shifts. I have a lot of regulars, and because of my random schedule, many of them come in every night of the week to see if I’m there, spending time and money on a drink even after discovering I’m not around.
Plus, the owner’s grandson has a crush on me and lets me get away with just about anything. I use that against him, despite the fact that he’s honestly a good guy. He’s single, and when he wasn’t, he didn’t flirt and didn’t make suggestive comments, but he’s a man. I learned very early in life to use my looks to manipulate the opposite sex. It’s the least I could do for womankind, and I know—even in my own head—just how bad that sounds. It probably makes me the biggest bitch in the world, but human nature is simple. People use any and everything to their advantage to get a leg up, so why should I be any different?
I find that most men like being led around by the balls. They only want to be perceived as being in control, rather than actually taking the reins, and I don’t know if it’s because I gravitate toward bad boys and men who spend their days bossing people around, but they’re happy for me to take charge in the bedroom.
It’s one of the main reasons I get out of my element on occasion and go for the shy ones, the ones grateful to spend time with me rather than expecting the privilege. They’re the ones that can’t control their need when given the chance to get a little crazy.
I love everything about it—the eagerness, the sounds they make because they just can’t help themselves. I love the awe in their eyes when I strip down. I’m a huge fan of the appreciation they bestow upon me.
Of course, these are all the things Jude “fucking” Morris did. I’ve played that sexy grunt when he came over and over in my head, and I hate myself a little for it.
It’s the reason why, despite telling Hayden I couldn’t make it to the class, that I find myself sitting in my car in the parking lot, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, debating if I’m making the right choice. I swore I’d kick him in the shin when I saw him, but I know I’m going to have the urge to plant a fat one on his soft lips before that happens, and with the obsessive way I tried to wrap my arms around his neck like a desperate woman the last time he kissed me, I know I wouldn’t have the power to pull away.
And the hate in my gut thickens.