Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
He’s about to turn around, half a step toward his bike already, but then gives me another glance and points between us. “This? This was good.”
“You smell good,” I say without thinking and pull out my pipe to do something with my hands. Otherwise, I’d grab him by one of those long legs and pull him in for another round, but it’s already so late.
I’m rewarded with another smile, and then he walks off, leaving behind a cloud of smoke.
Only once he drives off with a roar of an engine do I notice he didn’t even pick up his knife. I suppose that’s one reason to message him first thing tomorrow.
Chapter 10
Clyde
Two days have passed in a daze, and every time I close my eyes, I see Road above me, holding my wrists and flexing his shoulders. I think my nervous system got fried, and I’m left a charred husk, unable to do my job.
I’m distracted, unfocused, and unwilling to put my mind to any club business, because all I can think of is arranging another meetup with the guy I should want dead. And Road isn’t making it any easier on me, because he messages me incessantly.
Even before I got home from that failed knife fight, I had three messages waiting for me.
[We bof wont slip tonait.]
[Home. Keep tinking abot yor lips.]
[When do I see u?]
But while I want him, I’m not doing this with him for chit-fucking-chat, so until I have things set up—a place and a good few hours when I know I won’t be bothered by anyone—he can wait. I still can’t believe I’m doing this in the first place. Is fucking a guy who doesn’t even know how to spell ‘tonight’ really worth all this effort? Practically risking my life?
But I know the answer is yes, or I wouldn’t be so desperate. The need for the kind of satisfaction he gave me is deeper than any other. Alcohol is nothing in comparison, neither is money, or holding on to my position in the club. The force inside me is animalistic, and just like there’s no fighting a storm, it’s about time I give in.
Road was right. He’s my best bet, because he has as much to lose as me.
I only wish he would shut up and let me get a grip on our next meeting.
I did text him once.
[Wait.]
But no, he’s impatient like a wolf in mating season, so the onslaught continues.
[Why?]
[I dont wanna.]
[Cum over]
[Somewhere.]
[Motel?]
[When?]
[Clyde?]
[Meet me]
[Chickenshit?]
*Missed call*
*Missed call*
*Missed call*
[Fuker. Dont back out now!]
[Just fukin answer]
[Clyde?]
[How about today?]
[You said it was good]
*Missed video call*
He’s lucky he’s so hot, because I’m half-ready to arrange a meeting just so I can strangle him. If all goes well, I might be free this afternoon. Until then, he can stew in his own cum for all I care.
And on the topic of his cum… Yeah, I haven’t washed the T-shirt from that night, because his spunk stained it. It’s crusty, disgusting, and I’m embarrassed to admit how many times I’ve smelled it.
“Any news?” Grizzly asks, appearing at my side so abruptly my blood freezes with the fear that he might have seen one of the messages. It takes all my willpower not to jump in my chair and stuff the phone down my pocket with the illusion of calm.
I shouldn’t even be checking the messages at our club’s bar. I got lulled into a sense of safety since no one was here.
“No, was just searching for movie times.”
“What are you going to see?”
Red-fucking-handed. I’ve had bigger fish to fry than checking what’s on at the cinema. It’s not like I’m going on a date with Road, buying him popcorn, then making out at the back. We’re two guys who want to get off.
“That’s the thing, nothing catches my eye. Only superhero shit.” Because there’s always some new superhero movie. I get up from the bar stool, because Grizzly’s arrival means we’re riding out. “I was just waiting for Puck to say he decided on our route.”
Our road captain appears as I finish speaking and offers me a crooked grin. Or, it’s just his lips that are crooked. He got the scar running through the side of his mouth five years back, and I’ve never been certain about his expression since.
“My son loves that dumb shit. They can sell anything to teenagers these days,” he tells us and bumps Grizzly’s fist. Only a fraction younger than my uncle, he used to be my father’s best friend. He was even his best man, back when my parents were still alive and reality seemed a bit less grim.
He’s short, stocky, with a short graying beard and faded tattoos he got way back, when he served on a ship transporting goods all over the world. I used to enjoy his company a bit more when I wasn’t the one needing to rein in his temper. But he is a great road captain, I’ll give him that.