Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
It was the only way we could do this.
But there was a part of me that ached to see him detach like that.
“So that’s it?” he asked.
“Yeah. I mean, I wouldn’t mind another round, but I have a date with endless pasta. Then I have to get on the road at the ass-crack of dawn, so I can get back to do some interviews for a new bartender,” I told him.
“Got it,” Slash said, giving me a nod, then moving out into the bedroom.
Some part of me wanted to follow him out, to make conversation, to leave things on a more amicable note.
The part that kept me in place, however, was the part that knew better.
Like it or not, this was how it would have to be if he wanted to keep hooking up.
No feelings.
Just fucking.
Time would tell if he was up for that or not.
CHAPTER TWO
Slash
Something was up with Nyx.
That was probably something I wasn’t supposed to notice.
Hell, we’d been agreeing for years that what was between us was a casual, no-strings-attached, fuck-buddy, stress relief sort of arrangement.
I had been lying to myself for about half that time by telling myself that was all I wanted.
Don’t get me wrong, the sex was amazing.
Top fucking tier.
Best of my life kinda shit.
And if the choice was have nothing or have casual sex with Nyx, I was damn sure going to take the sex. For as long as it lasted anyway.
I wasn’t stupid.
Eventually, she would wise up. See she deserves better. Find a guy she wanted to get more serious with.
You know… a guy she wouldn’t mind being seen in public with.
And, let’s face it, that guy was not me.
So, yeah, I was taking what was being offered.
But time spent together, before and after the sex we both agreed to, over the course of a couple of years, yeah, I had gotten to know the woman enough to know when she was not acting like herself.
The Nyx I knew, the one arguably everyone in Shady Valley knew, was sexy, confident, seamlessly capable, and fearless.
The Nyx behind the bar that night was still sexy as fuck, but in a thrown-together way. She had on a little black dress that put some leg and tit on display, knowing she got more tips when she showed some skin. But her gorgeous hair was kind of greasy at the roots and pulled back. Her makeup was more minimal than usual. She somehow didn’t even have her nose ring in.
Nyx was someone who paid careful attention to her appearance. When you worked in a service job and you wanted to make good money, that was just… part of it. But from what I could tell, it was just how Nyx liked to present herself to the world. She enjoyed getting dolled up and looked at. It was why you never caught her bare-faced and wearing sweats. Not even when she was running errands around town.
That just wasn’t who she was.
So the lack of attention to detail was odd.
But, fuck, who knows. Chicks were weird. Maybe she had a headache. Or her period and felt like shit.
I could look past it if it was just that.
But it wasn’t.
Her shoulders were slumped. She wasn’t smiling or flirting for bigger tips. If anything, it almost seemed like she wanted to blend in, not stand out.
Again, weird.
But you could say I was just reading too much into it.
Then there was the third thing.
She was usually capable.
I’d been to a fuckton of bars in my life. In every small and major city. I’d seen a lot of capable bartenders. Nyx was at the top when it came to skills. She never got flustered or fell behind. I’d never seen her miss a glass, over or under pour, or drop anything.
She’d broken three glasses since I’d come in.
Three.
And lastly, the Nyx we all knew was fearless.
This was a woman I’d once seen fly over a bar—in a fucking mini skirt—grab a guy who’d just shoved a female customer by the back of his shirt, and threatened to gouge his eye out with the corkscrew for the wine.
She’d have done it, too.
You could tell by her stance, by the look in her eye, by the fierceness in her voice.
But the Nyx at The Bog that night? She was jumping at shadows. She was watching the door. She was constantly looking over her shoulder.
Something was up.
Something, it seemed, had spooked her.
It seemed I wasn’t the only one who noticed, either.
The other bartender, Chet, kept looking over at her with drawn-together brows.
I knew Chet.
Because he’d been one of the applicants she’d been in a rush to interview the morning after we’d hooked up in Vegas.
He’d started training the next day.
He was probably five or so years younger than Nyx, tall, fit, with dark brown hair, and that generic sort of attractive that meant he got a lot of numbers passed to him during his shifts.