Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 71015 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71015 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
They were fixed solely on me.
He was peeking out through the gap between his arm and the bar, head hanging upside down as he watched me work.
“You okay?” I asked, meeting his eyes.
He blinked, then lifted his head from the top of his hands and turned towards me.
“Other than I’m going to smell like a Bath and Body Works explosion, I think I’m pretty damn good. My arm had been cramping up since I got here. Then all of a sudden it locked down tight and my hand lost its ability to grip a beer mug,” he grinned.
When he turned, I got my first good look at his chest.
It was thick and defined.
His shoulders were broad, and his ab muscles, the ones I’d only gotten glimpses of all day, looked superb, even after being off of work for the last three months.
His eyes watched as I cataloged his physique, coming to a stop at his waist where the deep V of his lower abdomen disappeared into his groin.
Which, sadly, was covered by a distressed pair of blue jeans.
The blue jeans hung low, giving me the ultimate teaser, yet covering all the good parts.
“Thank you,” he rumbled as he worked the t-shirt back in place.
Then he held out his hand, and I grabbed it and squeezed.
He smiled. “Not that I don’t love ‘em, honey, but I was wanting my cut, not your pretty little hands.”
I blinked. “What’s that?”
He reached down and my heart started to beat out of my chest.
My face flushed, and my belly fluttered crazily.
I squeaked as his knuckles brushed over my mound before he gave a small tug on the vest in between my legs.
I blushed profusely then.
Mother fucker.
Jesus Christ, Tru! He was just wanting his vest. Keep your cooter under control! I berated myself.
Did I let go?
Fuck no.
I couldn’t make myself.
He grinned at my blank expression before tugging a little harder.
The buttons on the front of the vest caught the seam in my pants, which inevitably rubbed against a very special spot, making my eyes widen in surprised pleasure.
He grinned even harder as he finally worked the vest loose and then slung it carefully over his shoulders before he worked his arms cautiously into the holes.
“I like your outfit, by the way,” he said cheekily, grinning so wide that the cleft in his chin became even more pronounced.
Jesus, that thing should be illegal.
“Thanks,” I managed to choke out.
“You do know that half the men in this bar are cops, right?” He asked with a raised brow.
I looked around and then back to him.
“Yeah, so?” I questioned him.
“Wearing a shirt that says, ‘If you see the police, warn a sista’ makes you seem kind of suspicious,” he explained.
I shrugged. “My momma’s a cop. And my daddy’s the fire marshal. I have nothing against the police. I just thought the shirt was cute.”
“You’re Frank Doherty’s daughter?” He exclaimed loudly.
I nodded. “Yep.”
“Shit,” he sighed.
I blinked.
I seemed to have a blinking problem.
But I couldn’t figure out why he’d be upset about it.
He shook his head at my confused look, but he wasn’t the one who answered. It was the man to my side.
He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place who he was.
“That’s fuckin’ rich!” The man crowed loudly.
I tilted my head slightly. “What the fuck?” I asked finally.
“Torren got into trouble a few years ago when he first hired on. He played a prank on another member, but it ended up being your pops who got the brunt of it. Doherty’s never liked him since,” the man cried.
And I literally do mean cry. He was wiping tears of hilarity out of his eyes as he spoke.
I gasped. “You were the one who burned off his eyebrows?” I screeched. “You’re the Torren Trammel?”
The bar erupted in laughter at my gasp of outrage.
My dad had come home with no eyebrows one day, around five years ago, and they’d never grown back right since.
I’d been outraged on my father’s behalf. Not because he hurt my father, but because I’d been on the receiving end of my father’s bad mood that day, and I’d lost the payment for my college education as a result.
I’d moved out a few weeks later, in with Iliana, and spent the next two years struggling to pay for everything.
But I’d done it.
And color me surprised when the first person I saw as I walked across the stage was my beaming father.
I’d forgiven him that day.
I know now that what we’d fought about really hadn’t had anything to do with my father’s bad mood, and everything to do with my bad attitude. And I’d lost two years with my father that I could never have back.
“Hey,” Iliana said from behind me. “Isn’t that the reason your dad kicked you out of the house?”
I turned around and glared at her, hoping she’d shut her mouth.
Alas, Iliana was nothing but predictable.
When I didn’t answer, she jumped around in surprise, pointing her finger at Torren accusingly. “You’re the reason I had to share a bed with her for nearly six months until she could afford her own bed!”
“What’d I have to do with anything? I just set the man’s desk on fire, accidentally. I didn’t do anything to her,” he said indignantly, pointing at me accusingly.
I snorted. “You didn’t do anything, Grayson. I was young and dumb, and brought it all on myself.”
He nodded. “Well, okay. But I’m sorry anyway. I really pissed him off, so I’m sure it wasn’t all you.”
He looked so sheepish it was almost comical. However, I still didn’t want to go into any more detail on the matter.
Luckily, I was saved by the bell, so to speak. Or the whine anyway.
“Torren, why does she call you Grayson?” Molly whined.
Would it be rude to smack her?
“Because that’s my name,” he said with a tone that was perilously close to being smartass-ish.
“Oh,” she pouted. “I’ve known you for years. Why didn’t I know that?”
Probably because your boobs are too big and require too much oxygen to fuel your brain like most normal human beings.