Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 78961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
I am starting to shake with anxiety from the thought that she won’t let me spin the little blades again.
“Stop it!” she growls as I motion to her backpack for the fifth time.
“Look… Just put it on. I promise I’ll be good.”
“No. You’ll just make the blades spin again. I feel like Tweedledee when I wear it. Though, that does make you Tweedledum…” she says with a laugh.
“Keep up with the jokes, Christy. Just see what happens the next time I go down on you. You can only fight me so much.”
She blushes a deep crimson and shakes her head at me. “Pervert.”
“Yes, I am.”
“God… I really don’t want to go in.”
“Put your two weeks in. Like I said, I got you. You need to be training more than you need this job.”
“I… Okay… I’ll do it when I get in.” Her words come out with confidence at the end. Good, she needs more confidence in everything she does.
“Good. Just make sure you steal the hat when you quit.”
“I fucking hate you,” she says, and she swats at my hand that’s trying to sneak into her backpack.
Leaning over, I pull her in by the neck, kissing her thoroughly. We both moan as the passion builds between us, threatening to spill over.
Pulling away, I say, “I’ll be here tonight to get you.”
“Okay.”
Watching her get out of the car, I smile. I swear she wiggles hips for me as she walks to the door.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Christy
Walking into work sucks. I’d much rather be spending the day with Alex, in bed with him, but an obligation is an obligation.
I don’t like my job but seriously, who likes working? The managers have been good to me though. Working with me on my schedule and always giving me extra hours when I needed them. I can’t just up and quit on them, it just doesn’t feel right to me. I owe them at the very least my two weeks notice.
The first couple of hours drag by and I shift behind the counter, restless. The first thing I did after pulling on my hat and clocking in was talk to my shift manager, Diane. I let her know of my plans to quit, and she seemed sincere when she told me she was sad to see me go but wishes me the best.
Getting that out of the way was a huge relief, but now I have little to do but take orders and watch the time pass by slowly, tick by tick. I don’t know how I’m going to survive the next two weeks, especially with my thoughts drifting towards Alex.
I can’t stop thinking about how intense he looked when he was above me. How his dark eyes burned into me, or how he covered me with his body, his weight pinning me down. He made me feel so small and weak but in a good way.
He stripped all the control away from me and for once in my life I felt free…
I shake my head and take a deep breath, resisting the urge to fan my face with my hand. If I don’t stop thinking about Alex, I’m never going to make it through this shift. I’m actually looking forward to the lunch rush and the distraction it will provide when my worst nightmare walks in.
“Christy,” Travis drawls out as he saunters up to the counter.
I blink my eyes, wondering at first if I’m imagining things. But no, after dragging my eyes over his body, I realize the asshole is right there in front of me.
Immediately, my fight or flight instinct kicks in. My eyes dart wildly around me and I work out my escape plan.
I can jump over the counter and make a run for the door…
“Where ya been, baby girl?” Travis asks, slapping his hands on the counter and leaning forward. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Glancing towards the door, I see the rest of Travis’ crew walking in. I count at least eight guys, not counting the girls hanging on their arms.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
As if they know exactly what I’m thinking, a couple of the guys linger in front of the doors, blocking my escape.
“Christy,” Travis snaps, bringing my attention back to him. “I asked you a question.”
I stare into his face and my stomach sinks. I suppose it would be too much to hope that he’s sober for once and I could talk reason with him. It’s obvious he’s high on something, though it’s anyone’s guess what that something is. His eyes look strange, too wide and too intense with the pupils too big.
“I’ve been here, working,” I say slowly without emotion.
It’s an old survival reflex I perfected a couple of years ago after my mom passed away and Travis first started hanging out with his crew. Back then, he started coming home so hopped up on drugs the littlest thing would set him off and you’d never know what he’d say or do. The wrong word the wrong way could cause him to go ballistic, raging and breaking things for hours.