Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
“You know what I just figured out that I’m really afraid of?” I ask by way of greeting, earning a special glare from my gal.
“Clay. Come on already.” She rolls her pretty little eyes at me. “Don’t you think that joke is played out?”
Ever since our night on the water tower, I’ve been using the power of fear to experiment in the most exciting of sexual ways. It’s not my fault, though. It’s the only thing that helps, you know?
I wave her off and settle my elbows into the bar, leaning toward her as she plays with the stem of her cherry with the tip of her tongue. If she wants me to think about something other than sex, she’s doing a really shit job.
“Nah, Jose. I’m for real. This isn’t one of those made-up fears. This is legitimate.”
She narrows her eyes. “Oh really?”
“Yeah,” I say, punctuating the word with an enthusiastic nod. “I’m not messing around.”
“All right. Fine. I’ll bite,” she says, and I sink my teeth into the flesh of my bottom lip to keep from smirking and getting myself in trouble. “What’s got you so scared this time, Clay?”
I lean in, my face and voice grave as I whisper, “This bar full of people. It’s feeling real claustrophobic-like, you know? As if the walls are closing in on us. I think I need to find somewhere to be alone, but alone in the way that it’s with my mouth on your pussy.”
“Clay!” she shrieks, smacking me in the shoulder as I stand up to my full height again and wink at her.
“I don’t need long,” I carry on, utterly loving the way her cheeks are now flushed pink. “Just a few minutes upstairs, and I swear I’ll be feeling better.”
“You’re too much.” Her laugh is music to my ears. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”
“Take off your pants and fall on my face?” I suggest yet again, making her stand up from her stool with a shake of her head. I reach out and grab her by the hand. If she’s on her feet, I’ve almost got her convinced. Just a little more sweet-talking and we’ll be upstairs in a heartbeat. “Come on, doll. I’m scared if I don’t taste you, I’m going to—”
“Clay,” a deep voice interrupts from right behind her, pulling us both up short and making Josie spin around. It’s not out of the ordinary these days for the two of us to get lost in each other even in the middle of The Country Club’s crowd, but it’s completely out of character for someone to interrupt.
We’ve been going strong and hot and heavy ever since that night on the water tower. The sheriff and Harold and Sue and everyone else…they’ve all overheard too many risqué things at this point to approach without warning anymore. It doesn’t matter that it’s only been about a month since I convinced her to go on that first date with me—Josie Ellis and I are damn near inseparable.
I stand up straighter and squint through the dim light to focus on the face in front of me. He looks a little worse for wear, and I haven’t seen him in years, but it only takes a moment or two to register who it is.
Bennett Bishop, my best friend from childhood and my brother from another mother.
The guy I’ve been through more with in this lifetime than I’ve been through with anyone else in a million lifetimes put together. We did prep school and college together. We partied and messed up and grew up together. We made poor choices and spent our parents’ money and fucked around until it got us both in way too much trouble.
I haven’t seen him since I decided I couldn’t live that life anymore and left New York three years ago, though we’ve texted and talked on rare occasions.
But now, he’s here, standing in the middle of my bar with a baby-filled car seat in one hand and a diaper bag in the other, and everything we’ve been to each other for our entire lives comes rushing back in an instant.
I round the bar and go to him, pulling him into a hug only our kind of brotherhood can foster. I don’t know why he’s here and I don’t know why he’s holding a baby, but I know I’ll do anything he needs once I find out.
“It’s good to fucking see you, man,” I say, and when I step back from the hug and grab his shoulders with my hands, I see tears in his eyes as he gathers himself.
“Good to see you too.”
Bennett Bishop is not a man who cries. Not fucking ever. If people think I’m tough, Ben’s made out of steel. Whatever’s going on with him—whatever brought him here—is more than a middle finger to his father like it was for me. Whatever this is is serious.