Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
“I like homemade lasagna.” I’m a mighty good cook, but I might just have fun with this, and score a home-cooked meal out of this nutball idea.
“Done. How’s seven?”
I like her too much to say no. “That works.” I hand her my phone. “I’ll text you directions to my place.”
She quickly adds her number into my contacts and says, “I put my number under my new favorite drink.” Handing it back to me, she bounces once on her feet and then lifts to hug me.
My arms wrap around her and I inhale the sensual vanilla I’ve come to love into my lungs. My body relaxes, and I wish we weren’t in the middle of the bar. Stepping back abruptly, I say, “I’ve gotta go.”
“Thank you.”
I nod and head to the bar. When I look back at her, she’s heading for the door.
Eddie says, “Jagger called in sick.”
“Is he?”
He laughs. “I think he’s dick deep in the girl from the corner deli.”
TMI. I look at the door, hoping to see Virginia once more, but she’s gone. “I’ll fill in. Just cover a few more minutes.” I dash to the door and push it open. When my feet land on the snow covered sidewalk, I look right and then left, searching for her. When my eyes land on her great body, I call out, “Hey Virginia?”
Snow is falling, little white dots covering her hair when she turns with a flourish, a sweet smile on her lips. My heart hurts just looking at her. She’s so beautiful. I open my mouth to tell her—You were never invisible to me—but that doesn’t come out. Instead, I chicken out, and say, “See you Sunday.”
Her smiles grows and she replies, “See you Sunday, Hardy.”
Chapter Seven
My night is more than cocktails. Along with drinks, it’s quite busy with offers. When I serve twelve tequila shots to a bachelorette party, the favor is returned in the form of an insulting two-hundred-dollar offer to strip. I’m worth way more than two hundred bucks. And if I were to strip, it wouldn’t be for money, but for fun and hopefully sex at the end. What the fuck am I talking about? Oh, and no offense to any strippers who might be reading this. Virginia has my mind all mucked up tonight. She wants me to give her lessons in love. I’m seriously the luckiest fucker to walk this planet.
Back to the offers . . . when I serve a merlot, an offer of a blow job comes back instead of a tip. A bottle of tequila celebrating a girls’ night out is delivered and with hands that lean more on the pawing side they offer to take me home and ravage my body like, and I quote, “a dingo to a baby.” I tried to shake the disturbing thought from my brain, but when I couldn’t, I didn’t bother to answer. I just walked away.
I’m too tired to fend them off, so it’s time for me to go before I regret staying and doing something I’ll regret even more in the morning. The guys can handle the last hour before closing. The temps have dropped even lower than earlier and I didn’t bring my heavy jacket. The two blocks I cover in the snow at a breakneck pace keeps the chill at bay.
The streets are quiet, which I like, and if I listen carefully, I can almost hear the snow falling. I stop in front of my building and look up, closing my eyes, and listen. Hardy, I want you. Her words from last night echo through the night and down my street in the wind. Opening my eyes, snowflakes land on my lashes. Lessons in seduction. “Woohoo!” I jump up, feeling like I just won the lottery. Seduction. I’m the king of it. I cannot wait for Sunday night. I punch in the building code. A little wining. A little dining. A little romance and a lot of seduction. Now that is what I call a jackpot.
When I unlock my apartment, the place is dark, the only light coming from the streetlight at the corner of the block, which is too far to be a bother. I toss my keys in the bowl and shut the door. Standing in the middle of my living room, something new washes through me. A feeling I’ve never felt living here. I brush it away and go about winding down. It’s hard to do when you were wired thirty minutes prior.
I take a shower, hoping the warm water relaxes my muscles and my mind. It does neither. Neither does Virginia. Speaking of muscles, Big Richard is hard. Again. Wrapping my hand firmly around my cock, I start slow with images of that pink, my newest favorite color. My speed picks up when we kiss—soft, plush, willing lips. So close. So fucking close. Her lower lips even softer, wetter. My fingers slide through and fuck her all over again . . . and I’m coming. Fuck me. Fuck.