Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 113353 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113353 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
He learned that lesson before.
A couple times.
“All right... uh...” Fuck, he didn’t know her name. “You. See ya ‘round.” Thanks for the fucking memories. Or lack of them.
She wasn’t moving. She sat there wearing nothing but a disappointed look.
“Only gonna take me about five minutes to shower, so...” So, she needed to move this along.
She smiled and perked up. “Oh, you want me to wait?”
Damn it. “No. Stick to the original plan. Be gone before I get out.”
Again, the fucking exaggerated lower lip pout. It wasn’t sexy, it was fucking annoying.
He shook his head and went into the bathroom.
Eight minutes later he stepped back out into his room. Once again, his heart skipped a beat.
Instead of one blonde, another one stood in her place.
“Jesus fuck,” he muttered.
Reilly grinned and didn’t even blush as she raked her eyes over his damp, naked body.
Fuck it, if she didn’t care, he didn’t, either.
“Do you know what time it is?” she had the nerve to ask.
“How’d you get here?” She didn’t have her own cage and she’d been living temporarily at The Grove Inn. She certainly didn’t hoof it there on foot.
She shrugged. “Ozzy.”
“Why the fuck would Ozzy bring you here?”
“Because you never showed up to get me this morning.”
Damn, it had been his morning to pick Reilly up from the motel and take her to work. They needed to get her a damn cage. And soon.
But she couldn’t afford one yet and the stubborn woman was determined to do everything on her own. And right now, she was saving up for first and last month’s rent on an apartment, along with a security deposit.
“So, why the fuck didn’t you get Ozzy to drop you off at the garage?”
“He did. But as soon as I got there, Dutch was on a damn rampage and told me to find your ass... or else.” She growled the last part in a deep voice, but not even coming close to just how grumpy his father could sound.
Jesus Christ.
She grinned. “You were pretty fucked up last night.”
He didn’t need that reminder. His pounding head was a constant one. “Figured that out.”
“Your head hurt?”
“No,” he lied.
“I would have a wicked hangover if I was in your shoes.”
“You don’t wear my fuckin’ shoes. You just gonna stand there while I get dressed?”
“Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t.”
He shook his head. Whatever. He dug through the piles of clothes thrown on the floor and draped over his dresser, and everywhere else, to find a half-decent pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Not that it mattered if they were clean, they would end up with grease on them by the end of the day, anyway.
Deacon’s ol’ lady’s sister leaned back against the closed door as he dressed. She had her arms crossed over her chest, which pushed up her tits nicely, and a grin on her face as she watched his every move.
She was hot as fuck, but he also wasn’t stupid.
Not always, anyway. Sometimes his decisions could be questionable.
Even so, both Judge and Deacon had given the “hands off” rule when it came to Reese’s younger sister.
So far, so good.
And he wasn’t going to be the first to break that rule.
Fuck no.
He lifted his head when he finished buckling his belt. “Where’d she go?”
“I pointed her toward the back door. She was cute. A little dumb, though.”
“Musta fucked her brains out.”
Reilly rolled her big green, doesn’t-miss-a-thing eyes. “Sure you did.”
Cage turned in a circle, searching for his cut. He followed where Reilly pointed and jerked his chin up in thanks.
“Do you even remember anything?”
“Sure. Best fuck I’ve had in a while.”
“Huh. Is that right? What’s her name?”
Fuck. “Tonya.”
Reilly laughed. “No, it wasn’t.”
He shrugged on his cut and made sure the keys to his ’75 Shovelhead were still tucked in the inner pocket. “Yeah? What was it?”
“Not Tonya.”
Reilly was known to meddle, but still... “Why would you even ask her?”
“I didn’t.” She held out her hand. In it was a piece of scrap paper.
“Fuck, that her number?”
Reilly nodded with a grin. “And her name. Should we make a bet on how many times it would take you to get it right?”
“Nope. Let’s go. Dutch is gonna be up my ass.” Cage ignored the paper when Reilly tossed it on his bed.
“Oh yeah. He’s already on a roll, grumping and growling. Everybody’s cursing you out for getting him all worked up.”
“Great,” he muttered under his breath. “Where’s Oz?”
“Probably in the kitchen. He said he’s making himself a big greasy breakfast this morning to soak up some of last night’s booze.”
“I could go for one of those, too.” Hint, hint.
“You’re getting a stale donut leftover from Friday, along with a Dutch-sized boot up your ass.”
Fuck.
Reilly stepped up to him, reached into the opening of his cut and patted his gut. “I’ll make you a strong pot of coffee when we get there.”