Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 58840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
And I intend to taste her before the tour is over. Despite the rules. Fuck the rules.
She can keep a secret, and so can I, though apparently the new guy, Zane, can’t, because even though they tried to cover, it’s obvious he slept with her. Lucky bastard.
“Where’d you come from, anyway?” I ask, turning around to face him.
He’s staring out the window and takes his time turning to look at me. “Huh?”
When I repeat the question, Zane says, “Charlotte.”
“Were you a stripper there?”
“For a while. I’m a personal trainer.”
“Is there good money in that?” He has a decent physique, though it’s not as good as mine.
“Not as much as dancing, but I plan to open my own gym.”
“Oh yeah? Where? On Four Points?”
“Yeah.”
I hope the dude gets someone to help with marketing when that happens, because he doesn’t exactly have the gift of gab.
Zane looks at something over my shoulder, and I turn to find Brittany watching us from her seat. “What’re you looking at, sugar tits?”
She scowls at me, shakes her head, and looks back at her laptop.
I shift in my seat. I need to stop pissing her off, because the angrier she gets, the more turned on I get.
Owen’s leaning over to talk to Zane now. “Do you live on Four Points?” he asks.
“Been there about a month,” Zane says.
“I keep thinking you look familiar.” Owen narrows his eyes at the new guy. “Where would I have seen you?”
Zane shrugs. “At the gym?”
Owen shakes his head. “Nah, I work out at home and run on the beach.” He’s still looking at Zane as if he’s trying to work out a difficult puzzle. “Wait, do you have a 1973 Firebird?”
Zane’s eyes widen in surprise before they narrow in suspicion. “Yeah,” he says cautiously.
Owen’s eyes light up, and he practically bounces in his seat. “Were you at the car show on the island two weeks ago?” When Zane nods, Owen says, “I knew I’d seen you somewhere. Your car is sweet, man.”
The conversation has Jordan’s attention now, and Owen turns to the two of us. “He has a jet-black classic Firebird in mint condition.”
“It’s yours?” I ask Zane. That can’t be a cheap car to own.
“Yeah, fixing up classic cars is a hobby of mine. Used to do it with my dad.”
“My dream car is a ’69 GTO. I’ll have one someday,” Owen says.
Zane starts to tell Owen about a couple of the nicest GTOs he’s seen. Apparently, he used to go to car shows in Charlotte, too. It’s weird to see him actively engaged in a conversation; I thought the guy was on mute.
I join in and talk for a while, too. Maybe if I can keep Zane talking, I can ask him later what it was like to tap Brittany. I wonder if she tried to boss him around while they were fucking.
13
COLIN
The crowd at the next bar isn’t as big as it could have been for the space available, but we make the best of it. The other three guys and I whip the audience into such a frenzy that they yell and cheer as loudly as an audience twice their size.
There’s a very enthusiastic group of hot chicks up close to the stage who are practically drooling over us. They go wild when I do my special pushups right in front of them, but as soon as I’m back on my feet, my eyes return to Brittany, who’s watching from the back of the room.
I’m already thinking ahead to all of the hands that will be touching me when it’s picture time, and I’m wishing two of those hands could be the boss lady’s, when a sharp pain shoots up my side. It passes quickly, but then another smaller stab follows it.
A wave of queasiness hits me like a punch to the gut. I manage to continue, but I have to tone down the intensity of my gyrations. Thank god there are only two more numbers to get through.
By the time the show ends, I realize there’s no way I’ll be able to join the picture lineup. I’m wiping a cold sweat from my brow as I run for the bathroom. Thankfully, there’s a private stall in our makeshift dressing room, and I make it in there just in time to empty the contents of my stomach.
Thank fuck this didn’t happen on stage. Though it wasn’t specifically mentioned in the list of rules, I don’t think Chase Stanton would be too pleased about how being sick during a performance would reflect on Club Red.
I retch again and search my memory for the potential cause of my attack. I don’t have to think on it for long. We stopped at a convenience store at a middle-of-nowhere exit today that was suspiciously quiet. I went in with a taste for hot dogs, and even though Owen warned me off of them when he saw them rolling on the old grill, I ate two of them anyway.