Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Dr. Patel.
I didn’t think I had it in me to out-asshole myself, but knowing I would be deprived of my wife’s pussy juices for an entire day pushed me to the next level.
How dare she have plans that didn’t include my tracing the tip of my tongue around her clit? Her priorities seemed completely out of whack.
I told her mother as much when I checked up on her after I finished work.
Her response came in the form of snoring softly.
I was short-tempered and disagreeable during my spontaneous after-work drinks with Row, Kieran, and Rhyland, to the point that I considered not bashing their heads against the table a remarkable testament of my altruism.
The concept of socially drinking in itself was jarring to me. The entire allure of having a glass of whiskey was to enjoy it in peace and quiet. Alone. Instead, I had to pretend to care about Row’s restaurant woes and Rhyland’s subpar child. And don’t get me started about Kieran wears-sunglasses-indoors Carmichael.
“You have to see what Gravity did in art class.” Rhyland made a sound of a distressed baby seal, picking up his phone and thumbing through his gallery. “She’s so fucking talented. I told Dyl we have to get her a private tutor.”
He turned his phone to us, exhibiting the so-called talent. Comprised of an incoherent scribbling in brown and yellow. Not much different from the result you’d get if you let a dog drag its ass over a carpet.
“Very expressive.” Row fingered his chin, attempting courtesy, presumably because said child was his niece.
“Is that…a forest? Trees?” Kieran made an effort to sound interested.
“It’s a bear,” Rhyland deadpanned. “Obviously.”
Kieran nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. Totally. Uncanny.”
“It’s garbage.” I tossed my drink back. “Do the kid a favor, and don’t encourage her to pursue art professionally.”
Rhyland’s smile liquefied into a glower. “Anyone ever told you you’re an asshole?”
“Easier to count the number of people who haven’t.” I stared into the bottom of my empty drink.
“That’s a new low, even for you.” Rhyland put his phone on the table, screen down. “Picking on a five-year-old.”
“She’s not here, is she?” I mock searched for the small child. “Unless she’s taken after her stepdad and started drinking early.”
Kieran ripped his shades off his face, massaging his eyelids. “One day, you’re going to get cancelled for punching a kitten or something, and I’ll suffer the fallout because I’m associated with you. I’m sure Getty Images has a few pictures of us hanging out together.”
“Don’t worry, lover boy. Nobody cares about soccer on this side of the pond. You’re about as relevant as a fucking iPod.” I patted his shoulder good-naturedly.
All Kieran cared about was his fucking image. He wanted to continue selling his jersey to doe-eyed kids all over the world. Fucker was the kind of wholesome that made me suspect he had a big, juicy secret he was overcompensating for.
“Where’s your weekly arm candy?” Row changed the subject, lifting a dark eyebrow as he studied me across the sticky pub table. Since this was a last-minute gathering, they all insisted we go somewhere “down-to-earth,” and we ended up in a tavern. One with mortal, unimportant people, warm lager, and chirpy country music.
I didn’t like down-to-earth things.
I didn’t even like Earth.
My jaw ticked. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you normally show up with the latest Victoria’s Secret sensation wrapped around your arm.” Rhyland’s smirk extended over his mouth like a rubber band, ready to snap back into a scowl in a flash. “Your dick has seen more pussy than a rescue shelter.”
“That’s rich coming from a literal man-whore.”
“A former man-whore,” Rhyland corrected, raising his left hand, showing off the thick, golden band on his ring finger.
“I’m married too.” I raised my own banded left hand but erected my middle finger instead.
“My marriage is real. You haven’t even fucked her.” Rhyland grinned devilishly.
“How do you know?” Row snorted.
“I know that satisfied glow Tate gets when he ruins someone’s life.” Rhyland circled my face with the hand that held his beer. “I don’t see it right now. Plus, Gia doesn’t have rabies.”
“I made an honest woman out of her before we slept together.” I leaned back on the sticky vinyl couch. I was going to bathe in fucking bleach after visiting here. “Don’t see the problem in that.”
“A lying bastard like you can’t make anything honest.” Rhyland shook his head. “Not even a sweet girl like Gia.”
He’d think that, of course. I screwed him out of millions of dollars while he was pursuing Dylan, his wife. After all, one man’s weakness was another one’s treasure.
“Does this mean you’re faithful?” Row cocked his head in surprise.
I signaled for a spotty waitress with a dress far too short for anywhere other than the red-light district to get us another round, keeping my exasperation in check.