Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 69656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
“Umm,” I paused. “What’s it to you?”
I mean, correct me if I was wrong, but I was fairly sure that I’d gotten dumped by the man.
“It’s my business whether you get with my brother or not,” Ryan said stiffly, sounding pissed.
I rolled my eyes and continued out of the darkened hallway, not interested in having the conversation there.
More so, it really was none of his fucking business. The last time it was his business was about ten minutes before he’d gotten drafted. When he’d taken me as a date to a dinner, where we’d celebrated his getting drafted.
“Ares, stop,” Ryan hissed, pulling me to a stop in the shadows.
I gritted my teeth and ignored his hand that would’ve once sent butterflies exploding in my belly.
Now it only sent anger spearing through my veins.
I yanked my arm away and glared at him. “Make me.”
When I would’ve once again started off, he did make me stop.
I glared when he caught my arm again, this time tightening his hold.
I wouldn’t be escaping with the same move again.
“Let. Me. Go,” I ordered. “Now.”
“Hayes is bad news, Ares.” Ryan ignored my order. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
I rolled my eyes. “Ryan, let me go!”
Ryan narrowed his eyes. “He’s not right in the head, Ares. No joke. He’s not.”
I growled. “If you don’t let me go, I’m going to scream.”
He growled and let me go, and I barely resisted the urge to rub my arm where he’d been squeezing.
Logically, I knew that he hadn’t meant to hurt me.
He’d never been rough before and actually hated it when he saw my brother do what brothers did—i.e., hurt me just to see me cry.
So I didn’t say a word about how my arm now stung.
Instead, I turned on my heels and walked back to the table, thankful that he hadn’t stopped me.
I arrived at the table and sat down with a growl of frustration.
My brother and dad were talking to Saylor and Brooke, which suited me just fine. If they paid attention to me, they’d see that I was pissed. Then they’d assume that the asshat was to blame and would start something of it.
Ryan sat down seconds after I did, wrapping his arm around Brooke’s shoulder and pulling her in tight to his chest.
She smiled at him, but then went back to her conversation with Saylor.
I rubbed my arm and surreptitiously glanced down at it to see if it was red.
And it was, of course.
Goddammit.
I shifted in my seat, trying to hide it as best as I could, then decided that I would need to cover it up completely.
Reaching for the simple shawl that was draped over the chair, I picked it up and draped it over my shoulders, arranging it perfectly so that it covered my arm.
When I looked up from doing that, it was to see Hayes’ eyes on me. Or, more specifically, the red mark on my arm that his brother had caused.
His eyes flicked to mine, and I all but pleaded with him not to say anything.
He gritted his teeth, the muscles of his jaw flexing in annoyance, then went back to staring at the table as he took a drink.
I breathed out a sigh of relief and reached for the whiskey that’d been placed onto the table in my spot.
Taking a short swig, I nearly cried as fire licked down my throat following the liquid.
When I looked back up, it was to see amusement in Hayes’ eyes.
I looked away and contemplated pulling out my phone to pass the time, but quickly dismissed that idea.
The fastest way to get my brother to pay attention to me was pull out my phone.
So instead, I sat there like a good little girl, laughed at the appropriate times, and finished off my whiskey before the meal started.
When the meal was finished, I’d only eaten a quarter of what they’d served. The rest had gone to my brother or father.
I was a very picky eater.
I didn’t eat fish—because gross.
I didn’t eat green stuff—because double gross.
And I didn’t eat anything that resembled snot—triple gross.
Sadly, the main course was fish. There was a salad. And then the followup was a yellow custard concoction that really did resemble phlegm.
I’d passed the majority of the meal off to my brother and dad, who happily took the food because the portion sizes were too small.
I really couldn’t see how they got off charging two hundred bucks for this.
Five courses was nice and all, but the portion sizes were jokes.
I could eat a Whataburger meal with a large fry and still be hungry. And they thought a piece of meat the size of four AA batteries was going to cut it? Yeah, no.
I made a mental note to stop by Whataburger on the way home from my parents’ and returned to the meal.