Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
“Guinness,” I say first.
She smiles. “The best kind of kisses.”
Fuck. My free hand rises to the back of her head, prepared to remind her what those kind of kisses feel like. I’d do more if we weren’t in public. She’d be on the table. Legs open. Ready for my tongue. Then my cock.
I tell her, “Also the best kind of sex.”
Flush runs up her neck and shallow breath leaves her lips. “Have we had Guinness sex yet?”
I shake my head.
“We should rectify that. Most surely,” she says and pats my chest like she doesn’t know where else to put her hands. Her eyes drop to my crotch. I think she wants to put them there. She’s sexy as all hell and right now, I get to call her my girlfriend. Fake girlfriend, but still, it’s a good feeling.
I open my mouth to reply, but movement on my four catches my eye.
We both look up as her cousin approaches, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. A strict code violation for the club, but Sullivan Meadows was able to skate on by.
According to the owner, she’s the first Olympic gold medalist to step foot on the premises.
“Just a heads up—there are no cupcakes or donuts here,” Sulli says, but she carries a stack of pastries on a small plate. “Fucking waste of a good tea party.”
She slumps down on the couch beside Jane.
“Thank you for coming,” Jane says into a smile and squeezes her side.
“Fuck yeah, had to check this place out.” Sulli pops a pastry in her mouth. “Still don’t get it. It’s kinda dark in here.” She cranes her neck back to the first lounge where Akara and my brother chill out. On duty and not allowed down to this part of the parlor.
“Un-fucking-fair,” Sulli curses.
I agree with her on that one.
Jane nods. “This would have been my last choice of venue, but I didn’t want to argue with Grandmother.”
Like she was summoned out of thin fucking air, her grandmother exits from two double doors that leads to a private dining area.
Gray hair spooled into a bun and pearls on her bony neck, she meanders over with a tight smile. Before anyone can say anything, she spots Sulli’s attire. Her collarbones jut out like she sucked on helium. “Oh Sullivan, dear, did you not get the email about the dress code?”
“Got it, but I asked my dad and he told me it was fucking optional.” Sulli smiles into her next bite of pastry. In reality, her dad told her to wear what she wanted and blame it on him.
Her grandmother sighs. “Of course he did.” She swings her head to me. Jane and I rise to our feet, and I hold out my hand for her grandmother to shake.
She does. “Thatcher, so lovely to finally meet my granddaughter’s boyfriend.” She appraises me in quick once-over. “It’s nice that you could follow the dress code…considering.”
She leaves that word considering hanging in the air like a dead note.
Jane’s eyes bug. “Considering what , Grandmother?”
I shake my head. I don’t want to cause friction right now. Jane’s here to grab an apology and a promise from her grandmother. That’s it. Anything else is extraneous.
We don’t need to be on good terms.
We don’t need to be on any terms.
Grandmother Calloway snatches a flute of champagne off a server’s tray. “Jane, dear, he’s not from here,” she says. “It’s naïve to think everyone is aware of the customs of high society. That’s all.” Her eyes ping to a server carrying our two beers. “Those aren’t for us.” She waves him off with a hand.
Jane lets out an annoyed breath.
“You invited us to tea, ma’am,” I remind her grandmother. No straying . We’re in and out.
She purses her lips. “It’s polite to chat first.”
“Respectfully, ma’am, it’s also polite not to be fifteen minutes late,” I refute.
Her shoulders lock.
Sulli mumbles an uh-oh under her breath and sinks down to the leather couch, leaving the rest of us standing.
“You were late,” Jane says like she’s gearing up for battle by my side. “And you haven’t apologized for that either.”
Her grandmother narrows her eyes at Jane. They suddenly seem to soften. “You are so much like your mother.”
“I’m not her,” Jane says with a shake of her head. “If I were, I wouldn’t be standing here. You would have received one scathing voicemail and then never hear from me for at least a year. And I’ve contemplated doing that, but instead, I’d truly love to sit down and speak with you.”
“Now,” I add. “She’s busy, ma’am.”
“Very busy.” Jane smiles. “I have many more places to be.” That aren’t in a parlor with men three times her age staring at her like she’s fucking meat. Preferably where I also have a taser.
And a gun.
And my comms.
Grandmother Calloway inhales sharply. “I only reserved a table for you and your new boyfriend and myself. I’d hoped we could get some private time to address our issues.”