Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 142818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Bill,” he replied gruffy, shaking my hand.
I raised my brow at the name. Most of the men I’d met had badass nicknames or just badass names that they were born with. I’d not yet met a biker named Bill.
He grinned at my brow quirk. “I know, I know,” he muttered good naturedly. “It’s the name my Momma gave me, so it’s the name I’m gonna keep.”
I smiled at him. “As you should.”
“Your shit in there?” he tilted his head toward the moving truck.
I nodded. “I really appreciate you guys coming out to do this. I figure it’s not in the usual job description.”
“No such thing as a job description when you wear this cut,” he smiled widely, his handlebar mustache curling toward his cobalt eyes. “We were in the area, don’t mind helpin’ out. Plus, it’s always fun scaring the piss out of Ivy Leaguers,” he winked. “Come on boys,” he turned, whistling at the other men.
Each of them got off their bikers, one of the middle-aged bikers lifting his sunglasses to give me a meaningful look that rightly should’ve done something.
But it didn’t.
Nonetheless, I smiled slyly.
“Holy fuck!” a female voice commented from beside me.
I turned to regard the owner of the voice.
A petite, dark haired girl stood beside me in bright purple platforms that gave her an extra six inches. Her skirt was also purple, tight and short, a sheer purple shirt haphazardly buttoned, showing a black bra underneath. She had on multiple gold necklaces. All of them looked expensive, as did the purse in the crook of her arm. It was silk and had Saint Laurent printed all over it.
She pushed white vintage sunglasses to the top of her dark brown hair which had butterfly clips throughout it.
Her eyes were expertly rimmed with liner, long lashes framing her burnt copper gaze. Her skin was porcelain and flawless, her nose larger than the rest of her delicate features but only made her more uniquely attractive.
I was instantly jealous of how put together she seemed. How confident.
“You know them?” she jerked her head to the men she was staring at who were carrying furniture into the house.
I nodded. “Well, my stepfather knows them. They’re … friends. Here to help out.”
“Well, I owe your stepfather and you a really big fucking thank you,” she chirped. “I haven’t been laid in a hot minute, and that one in the middle looks like he knows how to please a woman.”
Her eyes were on the Latino man who had hair brushing his shoulders, bulging muscles and an air of mischief.
“He does,” I agreed.
“I’m Sariah,” she held out a hand stacked with rings. “Not Sarah. I’ve been fighting it all my life. I have a Jewish mother and a Mormon father who wanted me to emulate the ‘princess of the Lord,’” she said in air quotes. Her tongue darted out to trace her shiny pink lips as she followed the men with her gaze. “Needless to say, that kind of backfired.”
I couldn’t help but grin. “Violet,” I offered.
Her eyes raked over me. Though the gaze wasn’t judgmental in the least, I suddenly felt self-conscious. I hadn’t washed my hair in a couple of days, and it was piled messily on top of my head. Nor had I had the energy to wear makeup, the dark circles under my eyes unmistakable. I was wearing jeans that fit low on my hips because of the weight I’d lost over the past few days, a tight tank and Converse. Not my usual style, but I didn’t feel like my usual self.
“Violet my new roommate and effortlessly beautiful, stone-cold hottie with outlaw biker connections,” she snickered, meeting my eyes. “Love you already.” She reached out to squeeze my hand.
I didn’t expect the contact, but it was nice. I hadn’t had human contact since Elden pushed me away in his bedroom at the club.
My throat burned with the memory. I’d used all my antacids on the drive.
“Now, I’ve got booze in here,” she held up her large and expensive purse that indeed had a bottle sticking out of it. “Let’s order pizza, drink and watch the men work.”
She didn’t give me the opportunity to answer, just gripped my hand harder and dragged me inside.
I didn’t say it out loud, but I found myself endlessly glad that she was my new roommate too.
Chapter Five
I didn’t, as a rule, answer the phone when unknown numbers called me. Actually, I did not answer the phone at all. No one in my generation did.
Except when it was my mother or my grandparents. Those numbers were programmed into my phone. My father’s number was blocked.
This number was not saved.
But this number also had a New Mexico area code. It was probably spam. And even if it wasn’t, even if it was who I thought it was, I shouldn’t answer.