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)
I like my work nights the same way I like my customers—predictable and gone by morning. But that’s not always the case. There’s generally a rhythm to a busy night. Drinks, laughter, loud music, and of course, the occasional mistake that people tend to regret the next morning. And from my experience, it generally starts when somebody says just one more drink.
I have to admit, there’s something oddly satisfying about watching somebody fuck up so profoundly that I know his or her life won’t ever be the same the moment they step out of my bar. Does that make me a monster? I don’t know, but it does make me realize that in that very moment, even though I haven’t got my life figured out, I’m really not doing too bad. Hell, I’m actually doing pretty well for myself.
I have a bar that I love and a beautiful home. It may only be a small apartment, but I can’t bring myself to upgrade. My car is paid off, and at only twenty-two, I’m financially stable—apart from the crippling student debt from my arts degree I insisted on getting, which I’ve never used and likely won’t ever need. Though we can go ahead and file that under life experiences that don’t ever need to be talked about.
All I’m missing in life is somebody to go home to every night. Somebody to crawl in bed beside, to hold me while I sleep, and love me despite my flaws. The perfect guy would likely share those flaws. He’d be a little wild and could make me laugh. But not a pathetic little chuckle. I mean a whole belly laugh. He’d have that alphahole vibe about him, but not be overbearing, and all other men better watch out when he’s in the room, because one wrong glance at me would have them out cold on the ground. I know I’m not supposed to love a territorial man, but there’s something so wickedly sexy about it. I’d love to have a guy be like that over me. To know that just the idea of another man looking at me drives him crazy with jealousy.
He wouldn’t squirm at gore and would happily judge all the idiots who walk into my bar with me. But most of all, he’s gotta be hot as fuck, and I mean, full on panties dropping left, right, and center. The kind of guy women want to climb like a tree, and have me watching my back everywhere we go, but I wouldn’t have to worry, because he’d be all mine. A big dick would also be a bonus. Ginormous even. Oh, and I suppose, he should probably be a good guy. Maybe that should have been a little higher on my list.
Shit, my priorities have always been a mess, but it is what it is, and I won’t apologize for that.
My Velvet Slap victim and his friends finally move on from the bar to make space for newcomers. Fresh faces appear before me, and as I’m quickly clearing the dirty shot glasses the men left behind, a shadow falls over me.
My gaze collides with a wide, defined chest that’s straining against the fabric of a black shirt. I trail my stare up over a pair of large shoulders covered by a leather jacket before heading higher to a stubbled jaw that’s sharp enough to cut glass.
The man is huge, and he’s staring at me through a pair of pitch-black eyes as though he’s already picturing every position he wants to bend me into. His gaze heats my skin, and if he keeps looking at me like that, there’s going to be trouble.
“What’ll it be?”
“Water,” he says in a deep, no-nonsense tone that sends shivers coursing over my body. “Hold the ice.”
A smirk settles on my lips as I reach for a glass, all while refusing to take my eyes off him. Now that’s my definition of a snack. Tall, dark, and delicious. Black unruly hair, giving off the don’t-fuck-with-me vibes. I don’t know a thing about this man, but I already know he’s a walking red flag.
Exactly my type.
“Hold the ice?” I tease. “Who orders water without ice? That right there is the power move of a crazed psychopath . . . or a serial killer.”
He grins, those dark eyes lighting up, and damn it, the way they’re eating me alive is doing something wicked to me. If this guy knew how desperately he was making me squirm beneath this bar, we’d already be out in the side alley with my back plastered against the brick wall.
“Why can’t I be both?”
Ding. Ding. Ding. Is that dark humor I detect? It’s almost as prominent as mine. Almost. Either way, he’s a man after my own heart. Ticking all my boxes before I’ve ever learned his name. Now, I swear, if this guy has a girlfriend, it’s going to be the greatest devastation ever to rock my world.