Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Hunter’s sigh is sharp enough to slit throats. “Don’t fucking start with me.”
I keep searching. “No, no. This is historical. It needs to be documented.”
Hunter just glares, and I grin. “Hit me with it,” I tell him. “What happened?”
He takes a heavy breath as if wondering if he’s really about to get into this with me. “I was out at a bar last week, killing time, and I met this chick. Fucking stunning, so I asked her out.”
“And?”
“And nothing. I took her out. We had a good time. Probably the only chick who’s called me on my shit. She wasn’t impressed or drooling, and she could keep the conversation going. Funny, even. I don’t know, I suppose I liked that.”
“I’m failing to see the problem.”
He groans and falls back against the couch. “I had to take off. Something came up, and I had to leave just as things were getting good.”
I gape at my best friend. “You just . . . bailed?”
He throws his hands out. “What else was I supposed to do? Take her with me? I was working.”
My gaze narrows again, the suspicion growing. “Work? What work?”
Hunter groans and grabs his cup before storming back to the kitchen and refilling the whiskey. “Can we stay on track here?”
I sigh and get up, following him to the kitchen, and as he shamelessly throws back the whole glass, I lay my hands on the counter. “Did you get her number at least?”
He shakes his head, and I roll my eyes. “Rookie error, man.”
“I needed to go. Time was of the essence. Besides, it doesn’t matter anyway. You didn’t see her face. This girl never wants to see me again.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
Hunter scoffs. “I do.”
“Like that’s ever stopped you before. So what, you don’t have her number, but you’ve got to have learned something about her while you were with her. What does she do? Do you know where she works?”
Hunter nods. “She was working the bar where I first met her.”
“Good. Then go there. Talk to her, give her the full Hunter Cole experience, and she’ll be putty in your hands,” I tell him. “If you like her, then go for it, and if there’s something there, you’ll figure out a way to reel her back in. If not, she tells you to fuck off. What have you got to lose?”
He laughs. “You don’t know this chick, man. I could lose a fucking eye.”
“Ahhh, but it’d be worth it. The wild ones always are.”
6
HUNTER
I’d rather drag my balls across broken glass before ever admitting out loud that Maddox was right. Yet here I am, standing outside Black Velvet on a Saturday night, prepared to get my ass handed to me by the stunning spitfire at the bar.
Fuck my life. Out of all the women I could chase, I picked the one who’d happily skin me alive.
There’re two things I know to be true.
One, I more than fucked up. I left Lyra at that bar alone after promising her the night of her life.
And two? I’m not nearly done with her.
I need to make this right, even if it means dropping to my knees and begging forgiveness like the emotionally constipated asshole that I am. Though if she were smart, she wouldn’t fall for my shit. She’d tell me to fuck off, burn me where I stood, stomp on my ashes, then flush them down the toilet.
The line outside stretches halfway down the block, filled with drunk idiots and bad decisions. They’re all standing behind a purple velvet rope while the bass from the speakers pounds through the walls and echoes down the street.
I walk by the line. There’s no way I’m about to wait in that for the next two hours, especially considering the likelihood of Lyra telling me to fuck off. I’d rather get it over and done with, and when she inevitably tells me to kiss my own ass, I’ll still have hours in my night to do so.
As I approach the front of the line, I see the same two bouncers that were here last week, and I let out a sigh. They seemed pretty close with Lyra when we were leaving. Protective almost. What are the chances they remember my face?
Marcus spots me first. Then Dean. And considering neither of them look pleased to see me, I’d say the chances they remember who I am are pretty fucking good.
Both men stand on the other side of the velvet rope like two human brick walls in black shirts with thick, tattooed arms folded over wide chests, and if the leather cuts are anything to go by, I’d say these assholes aren’t the kind of men I want to start trouble with. Don’t get me wrong, I’m trained to handle this swiftly and easily, but here in front of Lyra’s bar? Nah. Messy isn’t my style.