Total pages in book: 189
Estimated words: 174749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 874(@200wpm)___ 699(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 874(@200wpm)___ 699(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
I know they’re staring at my face. At my strong fucking jawline. My deep, soulful eyes.
So Ashley wants to leave me, she’s free to go. Doesn’t mean I have to mope.
I swagger to the entrance, completely aware that I own the fucking club. But no one outside waiting in line knows that yet. Or if they do, they haven’t said anything.
Time to show them just how big a deal I am.
I glance at the bouncer and he gives me a nod.
“Welcome back, sir,” he says and I nod back, indicating to my four friends to come inside.
Inside the music is bumping and vibrating and I lead our way to the VIP area where a table is already waiting for us.
But in the time it takes to get there, Jonathan and our friends pick up a girl or two each, talking and spitting game out at the various ladies that we pass. They start with eyes for me, but once I pass, the friends swoop in and take over.
I shrug. This is just how the game is fucking played. The jesters in the court get the King’s castoffs.
I look around me and see the women watching me. We’ve attracted a fair crowd of interest. These women are dressed as skanky as they can get.
Now, don’t fucking worry. I haven’t gotten all prudish and all. I mean come on, I’m in love with a fucking stripper or phone sex operator— however you want to call it.
But these girls, and there are five of them approaching me directly, are trying to dress themselves up so they can look like hookers or porn stars or something.
Because they think that’s what the guys out in the world fucking want.
Well, I’ve fucked porn stars and strippers. And I’ll tell you all I can think about right now is sitting on a couch fucking cuddling with a romance movie on.
Fucking Christ.
The gaggle of girls approach me.
Sure, I won’t lie. They’re cute. I won’t deny that. But they’re cute in a skanky way. Not in an Ashley way.
Fuck, I can tell I’m not in a good mood.
I need a fucking drink.
I open the bottle of scotch at the table and pour some into a glass. I sigh as the girls sit down at the table. I lean back, seeing what they're going to say. It may be too much to hope for, but maybe someone will say something the same way Ashley did. When she used to talk, it used to make me fucking think.
"Evening, ladies," I say, putting my arms back on the sofa. "I’m Arsen. What’s your name?"
"I'm Joanna," the blonde next to me on my right says with a smile.
"I'm Lauren," next to her.
"I'm Sarah," her friend says.
"I'm Deb," the one on my left chimes.
"I'm Carrie," the one next to her says. She doesn't hold back though. "I give good head."
Jesus fucking Christ. So much for fucking small talk I guess.
I look around me. Jonathan is talking to some girl that’s sitting next to Sarah.
The other three friends have somehow gone off in their own direction.
I’m here by myself. Usually, not a problem.
But it gives me a chance to look around me. I mean, really look around me.
To girls who wear as little as possible and go out at night, hoping they find someone to go home with.
To guys looking for something cute to stick their fucking dick into.
To people looking to drink and forget.
To others looking to just forget.
Too many people talking too loud, trying to drown out the fucking silence.
I sound like I’m fucking high right now or something, don’t I? Well, I’m not. Because it’s starting to make sense.
These aren’t bad people. Strippers aren’t bad people. Hell, hookers, phone sex workers, models, web cam girls, these aren’t bad people. The people who provide and the people who consume, these aren’t horrible evil people.
I mean, I remember my Dad started out by writing smut and selling it online. That grew. He didn’t stop. Sure, he was sexual. I mean, I still remember the day outside Starbucks. I was just about to talk to some random gorgeous girl—what little of her that I remember reminds me of Ashley—when I saw him with his two new girlfriends.
I remember we fucking fought. That was the last time I saw my Dad. I traveled and stayed busy for the two months after that. And he died.
Because I was too proud to realize that Dad was making people happy.
We’re all fucking lonely. And some of us are lucky to have that one person or group of people who complete us. Who make us realize that someone out of 6 billion people cares whether we’re alive or dead. It’s a basic foundation of being a fucking human.
And that’s why we crave it. We read about it. We watch movies about it. We join Facebook to connect. Because as human beings, we want to connect on a deeper level than anything else.