Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79261 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79261 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I was good at reading people. Call it a gift or a curse. The expression on his face remained neutral in that broody sort of way that was obviously his M.O. I didn’t care much for his type. Hell, the truth was, I’d been around all kinds of men.
Nice guy.
Bad boy.
Broken man.
Yada, yada, yada…
In my experience, they were all cut from the same cloth.
At the end of the day, all they wanted was to fuck. It was that plain and simple, and once you realize that, it leaves little room to get hurt. I’d sworn off relationships a long time ago. Love just wasn’t in the cards for me, and I was fine with that.
It simply made things easier.
I preferred keeping people at arm’s length, which was one of the reasons I loved DJing so much. Despite meeting new and old faces on the regular, most were merely acquaintances or just party friends. Doing what I did for a living, I constantly traveled for different sets in different countries. I’d play clubs, festivals, bars, and concerts.
Anything, really. Even private parties.
I was always down for a good time. What could I say? I guess I was the kind of girl who gave off those vibes as well.
I partied with all sorts of people with different social statuses and loved every one of them. I was proud of being a bilingual Latina and essentially making the American dream happen, but Cuba was my home. I made a lot of money, and I’d never once taken it for granted.
I went back to doing what I was there for. I’d been DJing all over the world for over a decade, but dance clubs in Miami always hit different for some reason. Maybe it was the booze. Perhaps it was the drugs. Shit, maybe it was just the way people didn’t seem to give a shit and passed no judgment in this city, and I, for one, appreciated that.
The night continued without a hitch. By the time six o’clock rolled around and I was packing up my stuff, I once again felt him. Except this time, he was walking toward me.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One…
He instantly engulfed me in nothing but his whiskey, cigarette, and clean scent. I waited for him to say something to me because I didn’t feel like initiating a conversation with him. When he didn’t say a word and just stood there, I finally met his concentrated stare, focused solely on me.
His eyes told me he wanted to say so much even though nothing came out.
“Why don’t you take a picture?” I snapped, annoyed with his expression. “It’ll last you longer.” With that, I turned to leave, but he grabbed my arm and held me in place.
Glaring at his grip and then at him, I warned, “You got a death wish?”
He didn’t let me go. Instead, he asked, “Whose handiwork is that?”
“Handiwork?” I repeated, not understanding his question.
His gaze shifted down to my arm he was still holding, and before I knew it, he flipped it over, showcasing the bruises I had.
Irritated with his interrogation, I bit, “What can I say? I like it rough.” I yanked my arm away.
“Is that right, darlin’?” He swept the hair away from my cheek, and I yanked that away too. “What about the bruise you’re coverin’ up with your makeup and hair?”
I scoffed out, “Darlin’, if I wanted the third degree, I’d call my daddy.”
“If my daughter’s boyfriend was roughing her up, I’d—”
“Do I look like the kind of girl who would let that happen?”
He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to intimidate me. He had no clue who he was messing with.
“You got questions?” I mocked. “I got questions too.” Stepping toward him, I held my head high. “Do I look like the kind of girl who would let that happen?”
In a challenging tone, he spewed, “Do I look like the kind of man to fuck with?”
“You’re sniffing around my business, and I’m fucking with you?”
He nodded. “I don’t take kindly to men who hit women.”
“Yeah? Well, I don’t take kindly to men who don’t know how to mind their own business.”
“You workin’ here for me makes you my business.”
I stepped closer to him. “Let’s get something straight. Your PR company hired me as a subcontractor. I work for myself, and don’t you ever forget that.” I eyed him up and down. “Darlin’.”
His eyes lit up with mischief.
I smirked, shrugging to purposely fuck with him. “I owe you no explanations. In fact, consider yourself lucky I even answered you. Now, if you’d graciously back the fuck up, we can get on with our morning. I have better things to do than stand here and play show-and-tell with our tattoos.”
Without hesitation, he leaned over and whispered in my ear, “You have a cross necklace on your forearm that has a dagger through it, and then you have these bows on the back of your thighs.” As if pushing my buttons, he lightly skimmed his fingers along the back of my thighs before he grazed the hem of my dress to my lower abdomen. “Then you have a snake here, and...” Skimming along the left side of my stomach, he added, “A butterfly trail here.” He lightly brushed the tips of his fingers on my collarbone. “Then there’s a date here in Roman numerals,” he rasped. “But the one on your back piques my interest the most.”