Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Need a fucking subject change, please.
“Crazy fuck,” Kane said, grabbing the last cherry from the jar and eating it himself.
“He doesn’t seem that crazy to me.”
“Yeah. He’s a good guy, underneath all the…” he paused, waving a hand through the air wildly. “Chaos.”
“What’s chaotic about him?” I asked. “Seems like he wants to have a good time, but it’s not like he was screaming and running naked through the bar.”
“It’s not that Mason can’t control himself,” Kane explained as he wiped down the bar top with a rag. “It’s that he doesn’t want to. He likes living life to its fullest, but he has no off-button. He came in last week asking if anyone would go volcano boarding with him.”
“What the fuck is volcano boarding?”
“Exactly,” Kane said. “He said it involves hiking up active volcanoes and sliding down them on surfboards, or some shit—I don’t know. The guy will do anything, whether it’s jumping out of a plane or throwing a party where everyone has to wear assless chaps.”
I snorted. “Did he actually do that?”
“He has plenty of pictures from his so-called famous assless chaps party,” Kane said. “Ask him about it.”
I felt a smile on my lips. Mason must have had a whole lot of fun at that party.
Kane hoisted a big rack of clean pint glasses in from the back kitchen. “He’s a good guy, though. I mean that,” he continued. “Little lost, ever since his dad died, but good-hearted.”
“When did his dad pass?”
“Must be over a year ago, now,” Kane said. “Mason inherited his ranch, property, horses, and a riding school. Doesn’t seem like he’s taking on many riding clients as much lately, though. Probably makes him sad, though he wouldn’t admit that. He was always a great riding teacher, but now he’s… too focused on other stuff.”
I ran my fingers over a knot in the wood.
I’d been right. On the surface, Mason seemed upbeat, down for anything, and ready to play. But inside, there was a deeper sadness.
“Okay. I need to quit avoiding the frat house,” I told Kane. “I’m out of here.”
Kane nodded. “I’ll be around tomorrow if you’re bored. Just shoot me a text.”
“Night, K,” I told him, shrugging on my leather jacket and heading for the front doors.
A wall of rainy wind hit me in the face the moment I stepped out front. I used the edge of my jacket as a shield, heading over to my car and sliding in.
I popped on some music and drove off. Rain pelted my windshield as I headed down Laurel Ave, the main street in Bestens, pausing for traffic and lights on the narrow cobblestone streets. Once I’d gotten out of the town center and onto the sloping country roads, the traffic cleared.
I’d only been driving for a minute when I saw a figure, hunched on the edge of the road, trudging through mud.
He was holding his arm up to the rain, clearly failing to keep himself protected.
“What the fuck?” I muttered to myself, squinting out.
Who was crazy enough to be walking in this wind and rain? He looked like—
I slowed, put on my hazards, and rolled down my passenger side window.
I did a double-take.
Holy shit.
It was Mason.
Walking on the edge of the road like a goddamn idiot.
“Hey,” I yelled out my passenger side window through the clattering rain.
Mason didn’t hear me at first. I tap-honked on my horn, and finally he let down his arm and looked over.
“All good,” he yelled, waving me off. I was pretty sure he couldn’t tell it was me through the rain.
“Mason, it’s Jesse,” I yelled. “Get the fuck in the car.”
He shoved his wet hair back with his palms, squinting at me. “Oh. Jesse?”
“Get in the car,” I repeated.
“The ranch is close enough—”
For a moment I was gearing up to get out into the rain myself and pull him into the car. But finally, he relented, trudging over onto the road and opening the passenger side door.
“Move it.”
“You sure? I’m going to get the seat all wet.”
“I know, and I don’t give a damn. Get in.”
He sat down and shut the door. I closed the windows again and suddenly the noise in the car became quiet, sheltered from the rain.
Mason was breathing heavily. Droplets of water clung to the tips of his hair, his eyelashes, and every inch of his clothes.
“You told me you were calling a cab,” I said, furrowing my brow.
He caught my gaze. “I told you I had transportation covered,” he corrected. “That didn’t mean a cab. I would have been fine without your pity.”
I paused for a moment. “Are you serious? You’re giving me attitude when I just offered your soaked ass a ride?”
He suddenly looked my way, rage in his eyes. “I didn’t ask for a ride. Just because hockey fans blow smoke up your ass doesn’t mean I have to.”