Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 116254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Back to drunk as hell and draped in women.
Kai clenched his jaw.
Breck was just like Ryan after all. But even worse.
Blood draining from his head, spilling from his heart, he turned and regarded his environment. The partying, the sexual prospects, the drinking, the drugs. Breck’s high-profile friends… Kai shook his head. Breck’s lifestyle was exactly like Ryan’s. And it would only grow more so when he got signed to the NBA.
Which he would. It wasn’t even a question. That kid was a prodigy on the basketball court. Life wouldn’t calm down. Fame would exaggerate things, putting Breck in the limelight—and higher up on the social ladder—more than ever before.
Where Breck clearly wanted to be.
Where he’d fight to be.
His top priority—public recognition. Kai’s gaze slid back to Breck and those girls. Recognition and a stream of eager women to sate his every need.
His jaw ticked in anger and disgust.
What a fool he’d been to have hoped Breck had changed. To have dared to think that they might have a chance. He turned to go—
“Who’re you?” a deep voice rumbled.
Kai turned and lifted his gaze to meet the eyes of a much taller guy. He looked familiar. A player on Breck’s basketball team. “I’m… Kai,” he muttered, still trying to gather himself.
“Reggie.” The guy offered his fist. “Haven’t seen you before. You lookin’ for someone?”
Kai bumped knuckles, fighting back a frown. “Yeah… but he’s not here.” Evidently, the someone he’d been looking for didn’t exist.
Shredded, he turned and headed for the exit, uncaring that he’d left his heart behind on the floor.
He was so fucking done with Breck Harland.
So fucking done.
* * *
“Breeeeeeck…”
Breck sluggishly stirred to the sound of a singsong voice. A female voice. Coming from somewhere disconcertingly close.
“Wake up, handsome…”
Watermelon breath wafted past his nose.
White Claw. Hard seltzer.
His brain struggled harder to rouse.
“C’mon, baby,” that voice persisted. “You gonna sleep all night?”
Considering how his head was suddenly pounding, he just fucking might.
But then another of his senses came online. That of touch.
Weight… atop his lap… rubbing against his crotch…
Fingers cupping his jaw… Lips brushing his mouth… A teasing tongue.
Hands holding his hands against… two wet, warm mounds?
He frowned and flexed his fingers… Firm tips pushed into his palms…
A soft, feminine moan… But not the same voice as before…
And, fuck, now that grinding atop his junk had started speeding up…
Fumbling for coherence, he grunted and turned his head, then peeled open his eyes—only to stiffen at the sight mere inches away. Shae, holding his hands against her tits as she ground against his junk, straddling his lap in her bikini thong.
With a jolt, his brain shot back into gear. “What the fuck?” He yanked his hands away. “Get off my lap.” When she merely pouted, he tersely removed her himself.
Shawnie was next. He cut her a biting glare. “Do you fuckin’ mind? You’re in my personal space.” Yeah, he sounded grumpy as hell, but damn it, he was pissed off that those two had pulled this shit.
“Don’t be mad.” Shae shifted to give him more room. “Remember? You told us to come wake you up if you passed out.”
This was true, but unbeknownst to them, he’d passed out on purpose with no intention to rejoin the fray. Ned and their posse had other plans, and he didn’t even have his car back yet to go lay low somewhere. Because, just like last night, he’d been in no mood for partying. Unfortunately, avoiding said party was easier said than done when your place was hosting the damn soiree.
Plus, feeling as bummed as he was, he’d wanted a break from his mind just as much as the loud festivities. So, he’d resorted to using alcohol as his means of escape. Wouldn’t be hard, he hadn’t eaten in days. The game plan: guzzle hard and get his gloomy ass unconscious as quick as possible.
He’d been well on his way, too, when these two had all but cornered him, reminding him that he promised them a moon dance in the pool out back. Which he had, but under the pretense that he’d oblige them later. Aka never, since he’d soon be dead to the world.
Problem was, when they’d regarded him dubiously and voiced their concern that he’d pass out first, his dumb ass stupidly granted them permission to wake him up. Probably because he’d been confident they’d never succeed. After all, when they’d intercepted him, he hadn’t been headed to grab just another beer. He’d been on his way to procure himself some nails-in-the-coffin shots. Whatever was being slammed in the kitchen when he staggered through the door. Which was Smirnoff, incidentally, making him think of Tad. And just as he’d hoped, they’d shoved him over the edge for speedy light outs.
Regrettably, he’d underestimated these girls’ determination.
They smiled cheekily and rose to their feet, grabbing each of his wrists. Evidently, they still wanted that dance in the stupid pool.