Go to Hail Read Online Lani Lynn Vale (Hail Raisers #2)

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Erotic, Funny, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Hail Raisers Series by Lani Lynn Vale
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Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 72196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
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I could feel the cool air on my exposed back and wondered again why I’d decided to wear the tank top.

“Have you ever been to Gas Monkey before?”

I blinked, turning to him as I began to tug on my shirt.

“What?” I asked in confusion.

He gestured with his head toward my breast, and my eyes followed his.

The tank top I was wearing was one that my brother had gotten me. It’d fit PR—pre-Reggie. Last week had been the first time I’d tried it on since then, and I was happy to find out that it fit, though still a little tight. It’d been one of my favorites way back when.

“Yes,” I told him. “Once. Before they were popular on the TV series, though.”

His brows went up.

“You watch Gas Monkey on TV?”

I nodded, then immediately thanked the bartender for my glass of water. “Yeah.”

“Christ, you might very well be every man’s dream girl.”

When my startled eyes found his, I realized that he was staring at my ass.

I cleared my throat of embarrassment.

“W-why is that?”

I didn’t know why I was every man’s dream girl—at least in his way of thinking. Joshua, my ex, would beg to differ.

“You drink beer. You wear jeans so tight that I can admire your curves. You watch my favorite show…and you’re fucking hot.”

I found myself grinning.

“And, since I’ve been watching you all night, you haven’t said yes to a single man when he asked you to dance.”

He’d been watching me all night? He thought I was hot? Holy shit!

“Not to mention, when you felt yourself getting tipsy, you slowed down on the beer and didn’t make a fool of yourself like your friend did.”

I took that moment to scan the area for Wednesday, and found her standing on the edge of the dance floor, head thrown back, drinking a drink that someone had to buy for her. Hopefully she at least took it straight from the bartender.

The man that was standing next to her looked ready to pounce, and my eyes narrowed.

Wednesday had been shrugging him off all night, and she’d even told him that she didn’t want to dance with him.

Why all of a sudden would she talk—let alone laugh—with him?

But, my eyes were pulled back toward him when he said, “What else do you like to do?”

So, that was how, over the next half hour, we talked about anything and everything. In the middle of a bar.

“What’s your favorite drink?” I queried.

He snorted. “Dr. Pepper. Is there anything else to drink in Texas?”

I stuck my tongue out at him.

“Mine is Mountain Dew.”

He gasped, sounding like he was highly offended by my admission.

“Blasphemy.” His eyes sparkled. “I’ll have to rethink this ‘liking you’ business.”

I giggled.

Like a teenage girl.

Jesus Christ.

But before I could reply, Travis’ eyebrows snapped together, and his eyes narrowed on something that was over my left shoulder.

In reaction, I turned and stared at where his gaze was pointing, and immediately got to my feet and headed in the direction of where I’d just seen Wednesday leave with the guy.

Her head had been leaning on his shoulder, and his arm was around her waist, guiding her out of the club.

That was not Wednesday.

Wednesday could handle her drinks. I’d once seen her down half a bottle of vodka, drink two beers, and then finish off the rest of the vodka all within a two-hour timeframe. Not once had I seen her act drunk.

How she could handle all that and still act halfway sane—and I say half because she’s always partially insane—was beyond me. But the girl could do it.

I’d seen it happen.

My feet carried me outside, and before I knew it, I was scanning the parking lot for my friend.

I didn’t see the familiar blonde hair, and I also didn’t see Wednesday’s flaming red dress.

I did hear a man talking, though, and decided that maybe I should go over to where I could hear him and ask if he’d seen her.

My first step around the side of the building had me coming face to face with the same man holding up a clearly under-the-influence Wednesday on the seat of a motorcycle—who had her skirt hiked up around her waist, with a man’s face buried between her cleavage.

I snapped.

“Hey!” I screamed. “What are you doing?”

The man sneered and stood up fully, and Wednesday started to teeter off of the bike.

Her eyes were almost all the way closed, and she didn’t say a word as the man caught her before she could face plant.

Thank God.

What I was not happy about, though, was the way the man was so clearly hanging onto her.

“Did you slip something into her drink?” I accused as I rushed forward.

“No,” the man lied. “She’s lit.”

I highly doubted that.

“All right, well you can put her into my car, then,” I gestured toward my car in the middle of the parking lot.


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