Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 112850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Slade lifted a hand in a wave, mine rose too.
I went to the door and flipped the lock to open. Slade did the rest, coming inside as I took a step or two backward.
He looked different again.
The ball cap he wore was angled backward, like the first time he came around, but his face had changed. He was relaxed, maybe content. His amber gaze twinkled as he glanced past me into the bar.
“The guys left and I thought I’d come in for a beer. Are you still open?” As Slade spoke, he glanced down at his fancy watch which somehow fit well with the khaki shorts and crisp polo he wore. A gold necklace hung from his neck, and he wore a pair of brand-new Sperry deck shoes.
Who knew how long it took me to answer, but I eventually nodded and followed Slade’s stare into the vacant bar. “It’s slow after the holiday weekend. Not a lot happenin’.”
“So you’re closed?” Slade asked. My gaze shifted back to his, staring there.
“Sort of. Come in. I can close while you have a drink. If I remember correctly, which is fuzzy at best, you don’t prefer beer.” I crossed my arms over my chest, instead of moving to allow Slade deeper inside the building. It took another full minute of us staring at each other before Slade nudged my arm to react.
“If you let me all the way inside, it’ll be easier to drink,” he said, teasingly. “Whiskey’s generally my drink of choice. I can pour,” Slade said, when I finally moved enough to let him inside.
“Right. I’ve seen how you guys drink. I can’t afford for you to pour. We’ll be out of business by the end of the night,” I said, shaking my head free of the sudden scramble messing with my brain. “Jim Beam or Jack Daniels? They’re all we stock,” I asked, sliding a hand over the curve of the polished bar as I took my place behind the walnut wood.
“Either’s fine,” Slade said, angling his ass on one of the barstools directly in front of me.
I pulled out a cocktail glass, lifting a brow toward Slade. It was a simple silent ask, did he want ice? “Sure. It’ll help with the heat. It’s hot out here.” I poured as he continued, “Campin’ out here in the heat takes its toll.”
Slade’s strong forearms rested against the edge of the bar top, not a tattoo insight. His fingers locked around the glass when I pushed it his direction. “So we decided to camp inside. We’re not as young as we used to be.”
“You’re tanner,” I said and reached for the damp towel to absently wipe over the bar before resting my ass against the back of the bar’s edge.
“More like sunburned.” Slade lifted the glass, taking a sip. There appeared to be no burn as he sucked it down. Then, he spread the collar of his polo open, showing the pink skin there.
“The Texas summer sun’s brutal.” Slade’s eyes stayed on mine as he lifted the drink again and took another taste.
We stared at one another. Nothing said, but not uncomfortable either. The clean, earthy spiced scent of his cologne finally kicked my brain toward the erotic scent. What I hadn’t considered hiding since the second I saw Slade in the window, now strained behind my zipper.
It wasn’t my first hard-on in public, but it was the first time I didn’t go out of my way to hide my relentlessly rigid cock from the world.
“So you’ll just spend the next eight weeks alone in that big house?”
Slade nodded, the grin that had stayed close to Slade’s lips spread wider. “Sounds weird, I know, but the last ten months has been a blur. The quiet settles me. I regroup to go fight the film industry another day.”
“Very dramatic,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. My fist rested under the bulk of my bicep. I wanted Slade to know I wasn’t really the physical disgrace I’d let myself become.
Slade barked out a laugh, spreading my smile wider. “That’s a compliment on my side of the world.”
I nodded. Added in a chuckle and decided to do something other than continue to stare at this guy. I pushed off the back edge of the counter, heading to the cash register at the end of the bar. I punched in the sequence for the end-of-day reports that my mom would deal with in the morning.
The cash drawer popped open, urging me to count the bills inside.
“It took me longer to get here than it should tonight,” Slade said, again making zero sense. After putting the stack of twenties on the counter, I lifted my gaze, Slade’s attention focused on me.
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“I was trying to find an excuse to come see you. If we’d drank all the alcohol, or eaten all the food we got from you, well, that would appear mighty excessive and be completely untrue,” he said, the cocktail glass lifted for another longer drink. This time, there was no question he stared purposefully at me.