Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 48700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
I laugh abruptly, the irony not lost on me.
Apparently, laughter is the wrong response.
"As soon as he realizes you're just another pathetic little fangirl with a desperate crush, he'll kick you to the curb with the rest of the trash," she says, a vicious smirk on her lips.
"Yeah? I guess trash always recognizes its own, doesn't it?" I ask sweetly. "Tell you what. When he's bored with me, I'll hold the door open for you and save you a spot in the gutter beside me."
"You little bitch," she snaps, anger flaring in her eyes. "I can't wait until he sees you for what you really are—pathetic." She turns to stomp off, bumping into my shoulder so hard she nearly knocks my Coke off the table in the process.
I grab it before it tumbles off the edge, watching her go. I guess she's not happy about my presence here. Lovely.
I slouch in the booth, closing my eyes in frustration. The last thing I need is one of his waitresses trying to start a war. That's not why I'm here, and it's drama I don't need.
"What the hell was that about?"
I jump as his deep growl sounds directly beside my ear. My eyes fly open to find him standing beside the booth, eyes narrowed dangerously.
I open my mouth to tell him that his waitress thinks I want to fuck him, but the words die on my lips. The last thing I need is to make an enemy of the girl. She has friends here. I don't. And I can't afford to be kicked out of here until I have the answers I came for.
"What was what?" I ask, pretending I don't know what he's talking about.
The muscle in his jaw ticks as he grinds his teeth, clearly not buying my bullshit. "If you expect me to believe the innocent act, you need to learn to lie better."
"Who says I'm lying? Maybe you just have a suspicious mind, Memphis," I retort, annoyed because he's right. I've never been a good liar. How the hell am I supposed to keep him from figuring out who I am when I can't even convince him that his waitress doesn't hate me?
"Yeah, bullshit."
Before I can say anything further, he wraps one massive, tattooed arm around my waist and hauls me out of the booth. Within seconds, he's marching me toward the hallway a few feet away, his boots scuffing the worn wooden floor.
"Memphis, what are you—?" I try to protest, but he silences me with a single scorching look. I grumble under my breath, annoyed as I stumble after him, trying in vain to free my arm from his iron grip.
He rips open a door halfway down the hall and marches me inside. I blink, momentarily dazed by the brightness of his office in contrast to the smoky haze of the bar. The space is easily the same size as the bar, too, with exposed brick, a surprisingly calming vibe, and a drum set tucked into one corner.
Memphis kicks the door shut behind us before backing me up against it. He towers over me, bristling and intimidating.
"Start talking, Kylie," he orders, his blue eyes blazing. "What the fuck did Shelby say to you? And don't bother trying to lie. I saw your face. You looked like she slapped you."
I hesitate, weighing my options. Part of me wants to stick to the party line—it was nothing. But I already know he isn't going to buy it. That truth is written all over his face. All I'm liable to do is piss him off and get myself kicked out of here.
Self-preservation wins out. I'd rather have an enemy of her than have him kick me out of here for pissing him off.
"She saw you looking at me, and I guess she thought she was giving me helpful advice about your…preferences," I say quietly, hoping that appeases him.
He arches one dark brow. "Cute, princess, but we both know she doesn't have a helpful bone in her fuckin' body." His gaze turns predatory as his hands band around my waist. His touch sears me, my core clenching. "Stop fucking with me and tell me exactly what she said."
His bossy attitude and the intensity of his gaze have my stomach turning flips. It's equal parts hot and irritating. Why do I like the fact that he's so damn domineering?
"She told me not to waste my time trying to fuck you because you aren't interested in fat girls."
His jaw tightens, the muscle ticking as he clenches his teeth. Anger flows through his expression. "She said that shit to you?"
I force a laugh, though it sounds hollow to my own ears. "Yep," I confirm. "And then she called me a pathetic little fangirl and said you were going to kick me to the curb like the rest of the trash, so I told her it takes trash to recognize trash. Oh, and that I'd save her a spot in the gutter. I guess she didn't like that much because she called me a bitch and then shoulder-checked me."