Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 142764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Okay. Weird. But not the first time my messy bun or glasses have sent guys running. All I can do is shrug. It’s not like I need to add another guy into the mix and complicate things further, but there’s no harm in flirting a little, right?
Except there isn’t any flirting, not when every single guy I attempt to talk to or even look at looks away and runs to the other side of the room. It’s infuriating, and only pisses me off more with every attempt I make.
Whatever. I bet Drew warned all the guys away, telling them that if they even looked at me, he’d rip their eyeballs out of their sockets and feed them to their dog, or something just as psychotic. I bring the bottle to my lips and tip it back, taking a hefty gulp. With every drink the burn lessens.
Wading through the crowd, I people watch while continuing to take small sips of the vodka. I can feel the effects of the alcohol starting to kick in. My cheeks fill with warmth and rational thinking flies out the window. I’m halfway across the door when the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Immediately, I’m on alert. The room seems to hush as a blast of cold air cuts through the space, and everyone looks toward the front doors as if they’re waiting for their king to arrive.
Of course, Drew stands there, his dark gaze scanning the crowd.
Fucking great. Drew wasn’t skipping his own party, he just hadn’t arrived yet.
My night is ruined. My feet start moving all on their own as I plan to make a beeline to the kitchen where I thought I saw a back door leading outside. Then I pause. Sober Bel would vote to take her vodka and escape, but escaping doesn’t do anything.
I have just as much right to be here as he does. I watch him as he shifts through the crowd of people. They seem to move out of the way for him, parting to let him take up all the space he wants.
A god among mere mortals. That’s what he is. Who he thinks he is.
Keeping my eyes trained on him, I wait for him to notice me. It’ll happen. Any second now, the connection that tethers us will spark, and he’ll realize I’m here. He’ll scent me in the crowd like a fucking hunting dog. Slowly, so fucking slowly it’s almost painful, his eyes move over the crowd, and then bam.
His gaze collides with mine.
An electric jolt passes through my body, rippling under my skin. Just one damn look does that to me. Damn him. It’s pathetic the power he has over me. I hate myself for wanting more.
I love the way that only he can make me break for him, all before piecing me back together again. What I don’t love is having my heart broken. I give him my best glare and take another drink, watching as he cocks his head sideways. He studies me like I’m a rare species or something. I try to drag my gaze from his, but it’s impossible. We continue staring at each other, neither of us making a move to get closer to the other.
Something sinful, dark, and filthy coils low in my belly, my core clenching involuntarily as if it’s preparing itself for something I know nothing about. No. I grit my teeth. He doesn't get to ban everyone from even looking at me while he stands there, mocking me. Watching me. Controlling my body with nothing more than a flick of his eyes.
I spin on my feet and scan the people nearest me. There’s a guy braced near the counter talking to another guy who’s across from him on the other side.
He’s tall, with sandy brown hair, but since his back is to me, I have no idea what he looks like. It doesn’t matter. I walk up to him and tap him on the shoulder. He turns on the balls of his feet, and as soon as he’s facing me, I grab him by the lapels of his T-shirt and tug him down to my mouth. There’s no opportunity for a greeting or to look at each other.
There’s only our lips mashing against one another’s. The taste of beer and mint fills my mouth, and it’s not a bad combination. I wait for something to happen, for the spark to occur, for the butterflies to take flight in my stomach, for my body to awaken the same way it does when Drew touches or kisses me, but it doesn’t happen.
Nothing happens.
Not even when his hands snake around my waist to tuck me against his chest, cradling me closer. Nothing. No spark. His tongue dips into my mouth, tangling with mine. Deepening the kiss, I sink my fingers into his hair, and again, I wait for the zing.