Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 167257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 836(@200wpm)___ 669(@250wpm)___ 558(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 836(@200wpm)___ 669(@250wpm)___ 558(@300wpm)
I cackled and stepped around her before she could say more. These bitches would find any reason to stay on my dick.
I kept walking to my car while Jada’s thirsty ass followed me. “One, there’s nothing you can tell me about my girl that I don’t already know.” Not only did I eat, sleep, and fuck everything Atlas Beck, my baby had made it clear early on in our relationship that pillow talk was mandatory. Most nights, I couldn’t even get the pussy without sweet-talking her ass first, but I didn’t mind now as much as I did in the beginning. “Two, there is no us,” I told Jada. “Get off my dick, and go find your husband.”
“Contrary to what you believe, not everything is about you. I did something, Owen. A long time ago when we were kids.”
I kicked myself for parking on the street and not in the garage. I could have avoided this whole interaction. I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose when I stopped abruptly and turned to face her. “What does this have to do with me, Jada?”
Instead of answering, she shook her head and looked off with her arms crossed protectively. “I can’t tell you that. You’ll just have to trust me.”
“Well, clearly I can’t,” I threw back sarcastically. “You be easy.” I chucked the deuces and started toward my car again.
“You need to break up with her, Owen!”
“I’ll pass. And chill with that Owen shit. My girl doesn’t like it.”
“Rowdy, please!” I ignored her and kept walking. “Rowdy, you need to listen to me!”
“Go home, Jada.”
“You’re fucking your own daughter!”
I was in trouble—even more trouble than my outfit choice had landed me in.
I bit my lip, a nervous yet excited thrill thrumming through me as I turned my key in the lock and stepped inside the quiet, dark foyer.
Rowdy had expected me home hours ago, but I’d purposely stayed away, watching the clock until I was sure he’d be pissed enough over the late hour to fuck me into a coma.
I was so addicted to him and what he alone could do to my mind, heart, and body that, at this point, I was convinced being next to him or under him was the only way I could get a good night’s sleep.
My wistful sigh was cut short when a flash of headlights chased away the dark momentarily. I heard the familiar rumble of the Hellcat as it pulled into the driveway, and then the engine shut off, and I was once again surrounded by darkness and silence as I held my breath and waited.
I was still rooted to the spot when the front door opened moments later, and Rowdy walked through it, clutching an open bottle of whisky, his face disturbingly blank even after he noticed me standing there.
“Hey,” I whispered. I was nervous for a different reason now.
There was no emotion on Rowdy’s face. None whatsoever. Not even the perpetual state of grumpiness that he seemed to live in and that I’d grown to love. It was like a warm blanket that I’d wrapped myself in and never wanted to leave.
“You’re just getting in?” It was three in the morning, so I waited for him to ask me the same. He didn’t. “Where did you go?” I gulped, unsure I even wanted to know the answer.
I was under no illusion that Rowdy would stay in on a Friday night. The city was one endless red carpet laid out for him, with doors flying open wherever he went. During the rare nights that Rowdy didn’t let me tag along, he always made sure to come home at an hour that wouldn’t cause my mind to wander.
Tonight was the first night he’d broken that unspoken rule.
“Went for a drive to clear my head,” he answered. His tone was barren when he strode past me, taking the whisky to the head as he trudged upstairs.
A cloud of perfume that didn’t belong to me followed in his wake.
My steps were slow and hesitant as I followed, my mind turning over the reasons for this sudden switch in his mood.
Had it been only hours ago that he told me he loved me?
I was starting to wonder if I’d imagined it and if the warm feeling I’d held in my belly all night had been fabricated.
I refused to believe Rowdy was this upset over my outfit or the late hour—especially when I purposely provoked him so that we’d end our night in a way we’d both enjoy.
Quiet as it was kept, Rowdy got off on my bratty behavior almost as much as I did when he punished me for it. He would have been bored within a week if I’d turned into his doormat.
The shower was already running by the time I reached our bedroom, so I stripped off my clothes, determined to turn this night around. Steam rose from the glass shower when I padded barefoot inside the bathroom. Rowdy stood under the spray with his head down and still holding that damn bottle as the water beat down over him.