Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“Go take your panties off,” he repeated.
Tildy closed her eyes and swallowed hard. She remembered Tate putting his hand up her skirt and it was obvious where he’d gotten the idea. Suddenly she felt less afraid and simply exhausted. There was no point in fighting with him about it. She clutched the plastic keycard tightly in her hand and headed toward the restroom.
For no reason she could name, she stopped at the alcove that housed a telephone and picked up the receiver. She dialed Hawk’s number and waited. She didn’t know what she’d say if he answered. Maybe he’d rescue her again; maybe he’d tell her to fuck off. Right now just hearing his voice would make everything more bearable. She couldn’t be sure of that though, since he didn’t answer.
She put down the phone and shoved the restroom door open. Anger churned inside her as she stepped into a stall. None of this matters anyway, she thought to herself. She’d already made sure Tate couldn’t have her virginity. Tate might not care either way, but Tildy did. She threw the underwear into the little wastebasket in the corner and stormed out of the stall.
Rather than finding Tate again, Tildy stepped up to the open bar across the room. The bartender smiled as she approached. Tildy didn’t drink much and, when she did, never in front of her parents. She could have just ordered her usual club soda, but something told her she’d need something else entirely to get through the night. She ordered a scotch on the rocks without even thinking twice.
The bartender set the cut crystal glass on a napkin in front of her. Tildy had to admit that Abby had seen to even the smallest detail at the Custer. The place was amazing. The tablecloths were heavy linen and the flower vases were Limoges. Despite Tildy’s reservations about getting married, her wedding at least would be absolutely beautiful. It seemed almost a shame to waste such a great space on a chump like Tate.
She picked up the glass and took a sip, the dark amber liquid burning all the way down. Tildy fought a grimace as she swallowed. It seemed to make sense though. Her mother drank at home when her father was gone. Drinking something like this was almost a double punishment.
“Congratulations,” the bartender said, nodding at Tildy’s ring.
She glanced down at the monstrosity that sat on her finger. It was a pear shaped diamond on a platinum band. The ring had been Tate’s grandmother’s.
“Or not,” he said, when she forgot to respond.
Falling back on old habits, Tildy gave him a winning smile. It faded quickly, however, when she heard her mother over her shoulder.
“Matilda.”
There was no mistaking the dark undertone. Tildy turned to offer her mother said winning smile, as well. Deirdre was unmoved.
“We have guests,” her mother reminded her, eyeing the glass disdainfully.
Tildy took another swig of her scotch. “I know,” she replied. “I’ve spoken to all of them. Twice.”
“Would you like a drink, ma’am?” the bartender asked, poised to fulfill Mrs. Fletcher’s every whim.
“Give her one of these,” Tildy said, taking another sip. “They’re my mom’s favorite.”
“Mom?” he asked, quirking one eyebrow in a look that he clearly thought was charming. “Could’ve sworn you were sisters.”
Tildy nearly giggled at the tired line as she tossed back the rest of the drink. “Yep,” she declared, probably a tad bit too loudly. “It’s like looking in a mirror.” She handed her mother the glass and walked away. She weaved past the guests, returning their polite smiles, and headed for the large double doors that led from the ballroom to the hallway. Once she was out of the crowd, she reached into her bra and pulled out the plastic keycard. She checked the number on the top and headed down the hall.
Chapter 51
Hawk’s fingers itched to pull out his phone, so he ordered another beer instead. It wasn’t a smart thing to do. He’d already had too much, entirely too much. Slick had stopped serving him, so he’d taken to intimidating the other girl until the hops flowed freely. Maria looked about as happy about it as Slick, but so far she wasn’t saying anything about it. He stood up, swayed a moment, and stalked off to take a leak. If crowds parted for him on a regular basis, they fairly scattered like roaches at the sight of the lumbering Sioux shit-faced, simmering with anger.
On his way back to the table, the crowd did its usual impression of the Red Sea, save for one. He squinted at the rhinestone jean jacket and round toe cowboy boots. A woman he couldn’t quite place grinned at him. Hawk simply stood, more waiting for the goddamn bar to stop spinning than actually waiting for her to speak.
“Where you headed?” the woman asked with a drawl.