Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 63579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
“Besides,” he says, inhaling deeply and reaching for me. His fingers gripping my jaw as he pulls me forward, he slowly exhales the smoke into my mouth, sending shivers up my spine as I breathe it in. Then, he finishes it by bringing his mouth down over mine, kissing me in a short, yet deep and intense kiss, before pulling back. “She don’t give a fuck what you think. She knows who she is, don’t you, sweetheart?”
Swallowing, I nod.
I was wrong, before.
I can get high.
Maybe it’s the kiss, or the manner in which Fury delivered it, or maybe it’s just that he stood up for me, but my head is light, and my body is warm and relaxed. There is a slight spin when I turn and glance at Hazel, who is watching me with a look of disgust, and, if I’m reading her right, a smidge of jealousy.
Moving my gaze to Western, I see his expression is tight. His hands are balled tightly by his sides, and he’s looking at Fury like he wants to knock him off his chair. He has no right, though, because in the end, Fury was only defending me, and I have the right to be defended. I have the right for someone to speak up. Western sure isn’t. Instead, he turns and walks away, not saying another word.
“I’m out of here,” Hazel mutters, watching him go. “This party is trash.”
With that, she disappears.
Well, this night is certainly taking a turn.
Looking to Fury, I grin at him.
He returns it.
I decide that right now, he’s my favorite biker in this place.
And I just got myself a brand new friend.
HEAD SPINNING SLIGHTLY, I move through the crowds of people, in desperate search for water. I’ve had a few too many to drink, and I’m high, higher than I ever would have thought possible. My head aches, and I need a drink so I can focus enough to find my way home. My bed is definitely calling me, and I’m more than a little ready to climb into it and pass out.
But, I need to get home first.
I’ve had the best night hanging with Fury and Mex. The two of them made me laugh, and I found myself fully relaxing for the first time in months. The problem now is that I’m way too far gone and I’m finding it hard to concentrate. Giving up on the crowds, I decide I’ll just go to Western’s little shed. At least I know nobody will dare go in there, and I know for certain I can find water.
It takes me a while to navigate my way toward it, and I stumble more than once, but finally I reach the door, and, with a loud shove, I push it open. Stepping inside, my eyes move to the man sitting on a stool in the middle of the room, paintbrush in his hand, leaning over the bike he’s been so delicately creating. Hearing my entrance, he turns. His eyes are dark, partially guarded and a little angry.
“I need water,” I blurt, and cringe at how utterly pathetic that sounds.
Turning back to his bike, but not telling me to leave, I take that as a sign I can come in. I step through the door and close it behind me, carefully making my way into the kitchen. I get a glass and fill it, swallowing it down quickly, the relief washing through my body almost instantly. I refill it, and then turn, glancing over at Western who hasn’t looked back, not even once.
I’m kind of angry at him, and my high-induced confidence comes to the surface as I make my way over, stopping behind him. He doesn’t turn, he just keeps working, his focus solely on the bike. That only makes me angrier, because the fact is that he has utterly dismissed me, and I’m not okay with it. You don’t put your mouth on me, giving me the first kiss you’ve had in twenty years, only to then follow it up by acting like I don’t exist.
I don’t care what he’s been through.
Manners are free.
“Were you going to tell me Hazel came back?”
He doesn’t answer, but he does pause.
“Or were you just going to continue on with your life, acting as if I don’t fucking exist.”
One of his fists clenches, just slightly.
“I get it,” I huff, way too drunk and high for this, “you’re married, and I knew that, too, but that doesn’t mean that you can just kiss me and act like it never happened. You made the decision to put your mouth on me, and while I was fully for that decision, I’m certainly not for you going on to literally pretend like you’ve never met me.”
Placing the paint brush down, Western slowly turns, the stool moving with him. His eyes meet mine and as always, his face is expressionless.