Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
He looks up from my phone. “Chuck Kruger, the fighter? That’s your boyfriend?”
I hold a finger to my lips. “Shh. The fighting’s a secret.”
He grunts. “Not much of one.” He passes my phone back to me. “Looks like Julie was looking for you about an hour ago, and since you told her to leave without you if Chuck showed up, she did.”
I frown, feeling more dread than hope. “Chuck’s here?” I’m not up for dealing with his moods.
He shakes his head. “Nope. The last text he sent said he couldn’t find you. He headed home to hang with your brother.”
Chuck’s place is like three miles from here. I do so much walking that three miles isn’t necessarily a deal breaker—but it’s the middle of the night, and these heels were meant for making my ass look good, not for a midnight stroll.
“I take it this means you need a ride home?” he asks.
“Home.” I huff. “I don’t have one of those.” Ugh. Will the real Drunk Savvy please shut up?
“Where are you staying?” he asks gently, like he understands my drunken ramblings more than he wants to.
“With Chuck. But I don’t want to go there if my brother’s around. I’ll just stay here for a while and head back later.”
He holds my gaze for a long moment before muttering something and shaking his head. “That seems like a bad idea.” He offers me a hand, palm up. “Come on. I’m taking you somewhere to sober up.”
CHAPTER FOUR
OLIVER
Savvy—that’s her name, judging by the messages on her phone. It suits her. Pretty, flirty, casual. Typically, I want nothing to do with strange, drunk women who look at me like starved sex kittens. Especially considering she interrupted the first blowjob I’ve gotten in months. Only, as skilled as Crissy was with her mouth and tongue, as much as she checked all the boxes in the random hookup list I was looking for, the whole experience was missing something. It wasn’t until Savvy walked in the room with her tight jeans and hungry eyes that I felt much of anything at all. And that is messed up, even for me.
I can’t believe she’s dating Chuck fucking Kruger. Now there’s a piece of work.
And what is this shit about him abstaining from sex?
I pull in front of my favorite twenty-four-hour diner and park the car. When I turn to Savvy, her eyes are closed and her head’s slumped to the side.
Great. I was so lost in my thoughts I let the drunk girl pass out.
“Savvy?” I stroke her bare shoulder gently. Her skin is cool and soft under my fingertips.
She jerks awake and blinks at me, scanning the car like she’s not sure how she got here.
“We’re gonna go in and get some coffee and food,” I say before she can decide to panic. “Water too. I’ll take you home after you sober up.”
Her gaze drops to my mouth and she licks her lips—I fucking wish she’d quit doing that. My dick still remembers that Crissy didn’t get to finish what she started, and while no part of me is into drunk girls, it’s pretty obvious all parts of me are into this one—drunk or sober. The fact that she’s Chuck’s just adds another level of fucked-up to this whole situation. I hate him just enough that I’d really enjoy giving his girl everything she’s not getting from him.
“What’s your name?” she asks.
Right. Because I never told her. She never told me hers either, but she’s too drunk to remember that. “Oliver Rhett.”
She coughs out a laugh. “Of course it is.” I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean, but before I can ask, she says, “Nice ride, Oliver.”
Normally, I’m ridiculously cocky about my Viper, but something about her tone makes me feel more mocked than flattered. “Thanks.”
She climbs out of the car, and I follow her. Her stride is steadier and more confident than it was when we left the party—as if the car ride and a little fresh air were all it took to sober her up. That might mean I’ll have to take her back to Chuck sooner than I wanted to. If she’s already sober on our way into the diner, I won’t have an excuse to keep her there. Disappointment tugs at me.
“Oliver!” Cindy, the night-shift waitress, calls when I follow Savvy inside. Her gravelly smoker’s voice makes her sound a couple decades older than her fifty-some years. “Your booth is open. Coffee?”
I hold up two fingers, and her eyes go wide as she looks back and forth between me and Savvy.
“Two coffees, coming right up,” she says, winking.
I lightly place a hand on Savvy’s back and usher her toward “my” booth in the rear corner.
“You come here a lot?” Savvy asks when she slides into the cushioned vinyl seat across from me.