Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Jordan looks at me as though just the idea of getting any closer disturbs him, and a wave of pride crashes through me. “You’re a fucking bitch.”
“I’ve been called worse. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d love to get on with my day, preferably far away from men who think it’s acceptable to demand a woman suck their dicks on the sidewalk. Mmkay, thanks. This was fun, but I’m out.”
I don’t waste another second, turning around and scurrying away while keeping a sharp eye on my peripheral, making sure the asshole doesn’t feel the need to settle the score.
It takes me no time to reach my apartment, and by the time I’m pushing through my door, I’m all but bursting from the seams, desperate to tell Chloe exactly what just happened. I find her a second later, curled up on the couch, clutching an open bottle of wine, looking as though she just sucked a lemon.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask, kicking the door closed behind me before flicking the lock and sliding the deadbolt into place. “You look as though someone just pissed in your Cheerios.”
“Me? Speak for yourself,” she grumbles. “You’re the one who just came bursting through the door as though you were looking for a fight.”
“That’s because I almost just had one,” I tell her. “Some asshole just demanded I suck his dick on the sidewalk because I so happened to suck his friend’s. I swear! I just had to put the fucker in his place, and then I practically ran home while making sure he wasn’t following me.”
“The fuck?” she grunts, her face twisting with disgust as she flies to her feet, her gaze sailing over me as though checking to make sure I’m in one piece. “Who the fuck just does that? I swear, men are fucking pigs sometimes.”
“Tell me about it,” I mutter, striding toward her and snatching the wine bottle right out of her hand, lifting it to my lips, and taking a long swig. The bitter taste makes me cough and scrunch my face. This shit is disgusting. Chloe only buys the fancy shit. Me, I like the cheap stuff that gets the job done faster. “What the hell is this? It tastes like rotten asshole mushed up.”
“Of course you’d know what that tastes like,” she quips, snatching the bottle right back.
“Okay, what gives? Why are you in a pissy mood?”
She lets out a heavy breath and flops back to the couch, taking a swig of her shitty wine. “You know that B minus I got in Professor McAsslesschaps’ class last week?”
I nod as a stupid smirk pulls across my face at the ridiculous nickname, remembering the photo Chloe and I stumbled across of Professor McKnight at a frat party at this very college over twenty years ago. It was clearly a very wild night, and judging from the state of Professor McKnight’s ass in those assless chaps, it was more than clear that the guy used to work out. Used to being the operative words.
“Well, apparently Professor McAsslesschaps likes to golf at the same country club as my father, and they ran into each other.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yep. The guy had the audacity to tell my father that if I only applied myself a little more, I could have a real future in anthropology.”
“What the hell? That B minus was the highest grade McKnight has given in over three years.”
“That’s what I said, but apparently that’s not good enough for the Whitmore name. Besides,” she adds with a scoff. “I’m not even interested in anthropology. I only took the course out of pure curiosity.”
“That’s shit,” I say, striding toward her and taking the shitty wine out of her hand again. “You know what we need?”
Chloe glances up at me, her brows arching as if waiting for me to solve the world’s problems.
“We need to get fucked up, and not on this shit,” I say, shoving the wine aside. “We need the good stuff.”
Her eyes widen as she gets to her feet. “The good stuff?” she asks, excitement brimming in her honey-brown eyes.
“Oh yeah,” I say, skipping into the kitchen and reaching for the highest cupboard above the fridge and reaching in. “The good stuff.”
Pushing up onto my tippy toes, I reach right into the back of the cupboard and blindly feel around until my fingers brush the cool glass. I grab hold of the bottle and pull out our most beloved bottle of cherry vodka. I even feel happier just looking at the pretty bottle.
“Find the shot glasses,” I announce.
Chloe hurries around the other side of the kitchen counter, immediately scrambling through our cupboards. We have a billion shot glasses, only when it comes time to find them, they all magically disappear, and we end up using glass tumblers instead.
“Okay, got them,” Chloe says, bringing back the biggest shot glasses known to man. They’re practically buckets, but I’m down if she is. “But while we do this, you have to fill me in on the Zephyr and Caesar situation. I’m still trying to decide if it’s zesty or incesty.”