Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 102523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
I will take this to my deathbed, and never even whisper this secret to my best friend, but wrestling around with the thick-bodied, hard-muscled man behind me is the most excitement I’ve had in ages. I can’t see his face, but the feel of his strength is sexy in a dominant, powerful way.
And that’s enough of that nonsense, Hazel Sullivan. You ain’t that type of girl.
“Put me down!” I bite out, also considering biting my captor. Maybe on that bicep I can feel flexing as he holds me securely.
“Only if you calm down. Both of you.”
I hear a snort from our audience as they get their comments in. “That one ain’t too bright, is he? Everyone knows not to tell a woman to calm down unless you want her to go nuclear.” Nuclear is said like newk-eww-lerr, with long drawls on each syllable.
At least that one’s right. I give it all I’ve got, wiggling for my life. Fine, and also maybe to see if I can feel abs behind me . . . or something more. But I’m not admitting that, even to myself. But before I can do more than wriggle, my feet find the floor. Instantly, I step away, whirling to face my captor.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I spit out, the accusation fortunately preformed by my brain and already sent to my mouth, because as soon as I see him, my brain turns into complete static.
A tall, broad-shouldered, trim-waisted, sexy model stands before me. Seriously, he looks like he just walked off the pages of Modern Logging. Is that even a thing? If not, it should be, and this asshole should grace the cover of the premier edition. His blond hair is stylishly messy in that way that should take forever but, since he’s a guy, is likely actual bedhead. His jawline is chiseled and shaded by day-old stubble that makes him look rugged instead of pretty. And his eyes, blue diamonds that are sparkling with delight.
“Helping you,” he explains with a healthy dose of “duh” woven through the words.
Ah, there it is.
He’s one of those types. White knights. The saviors who want to rush in to save the little damsel in distress, all the while laughing at her inability to take care of herself. He’s nothing but trouble with a bonus side dish of asshole.
“I don’t need your help. Or anyone else’s,” I return, waving my hand to urge him back to his beer or whatever. “So skedaddle along back to wherever it is you came from, Prince Charming. I’ve got this handled.”
“Wyatt?” Roddy says behind me.
Hell, I’d almost forgotten about that particular jerkwad.
“The one and only,” the walking sex god says dryly. “I’d shake your hand, but I think we have another issue to take care of first.” He glances down at the cash on the floor pointedly. “Why don’t we all pick it up together, put it on the table, and call it good?”
Roddy looks at me and shrugs, suddenly willing to give in now that another guy is running the show.
That pisses me off anew, but I try to not cut my nose off to spite my face. “I get the two hundred either way.”
Okay, maybe just a tiny slice.
The three of us slowly bend down, gathering up the scattered bills. To his credit, Roddy shoves the wad he’s collected into my hand instead of dropping it on the table. As I put the bills into my pocket, Roddy picks up Joannie, laying her on the table and rolling her forward and backward to make sure she’s still good. My breath catches in my throat, both from his hands being on my prized pool cue and in hope that she rolls cleanly.
“Looks okay, but lemme know if not.” It’s all the apology Roddy offers, so all the acceptance I give is a dip of my chin. He looks past me and startles. “Think I better call it a night, I guess.”
I lift a brow and glare over my shoulder. Sex God Wyatt is standing like a bodyguard, feet firmly planted to the floor, arms crossed over his chest, and a hard look on his face. Turning back to Roddy, I say, “Probably for the best. Looks like I have a line forming of assholes to deal with.”
Roddy’s lips twitch. “You saying stuff like that makes me want to stick around and see someone else get his ass handed to him.” Still fighting off a grin, he holds his hand out to Wyatt. “Good luck with this one, man. Glad to see ya.”
I have no idea what Roddy’s talking about. I’m perfectly pleasant when I’m not being disrespected.
Wyatt shakes Roddy’s hand, and then Roddy heads out with his two friends in tow. They’re already teasing him about both losing the game and getting beat down by me, which serves him right.