Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 103661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
"No, reading The Great Gatsby the one time was enough."
"Somewhere more exotic? Hawaii? Or an island in the Caribbean?"
"I'll think about it."
"I'll include a bar. So you can mix all the drinks you want."
"I knew there was a catch. A beach house where I'm a servant." Her eyes meet mine. "Probably in some embarrassing outfit too."
"You can keep your boots."
"Oh?"
"They're all you'll wear."
Her blush spreads to her chest. "Do you really… is it a thing for you?"
"A thing?"
"Like… the guy who manages Devil's Point. When he first saw me, he went 'we don't have any punk bitch dancers. Show me what you can do and you're hired, honey.' I guess… he'll hire almost any pretty girl to dance. So many try for a night or two and give up, once they realize what it means."
"What's that?"
"It's not the dancing, really. It's the men touching them. Thinking a lap dance buys them carte blanche."
"That's what stopped you?"
She nods.
My head fills with ideas. Eve strutting around stage in knee-high lace-up boots. Tossing aside black lingerie. Climbing into my lap and begging me to touch her.
"I had to talk him into the bartending thing. I begged. It was pathetic, really. But that's what did it." She flips her teal hair. "The punk bitch look."
"Was I a teenager during the punk movement?"
"Kinda."
"I'm not that old."
"So it's not like… there was this one girl at your high school who always wore combat boots?"
"No. I don't like you because of your hair or tattoos. I like your hair and tattoos because I like you."
"You have them too."
"I was in the military."
"They're all from that time?"
"Most of them."
Her eyes flit to my chest. The only tattoo she's seen, though it's not visible at the moment. "Will you show me? Later?"
"Are you asking me to strip, Miss Miller?"
"Not here. But later. You are programmed for my pleasure, aren't you?"
I hold out my arm, as if I'm asking for her hand. "I live to serve, Miss Miller."
"Somehow, I have a hard time believing that."
"But it's true. All I want is your pleasure. It's just I go about obtaining it in a way that's—"
The server cuts me off. He clears his throat. "Ready to order?" His voice drips with equal parts discomfort and interest.
Eve's blush deepens.
Fuck, that blush is driving me out of my goddamn mind. I need her in my bed immediately.
Eve picks up her menu for the first time. She runs her finger over the edge.
"You trust me?" I ask.
She catches on nods. "If you're ready to use your second chance."
The server stares with impatience. "If you need a minute…"
She nods I trust you.
I order for the two of us. Only the entrees. No drinks. It's early and we're pressed for time.
As much as I want to cancel my entire day, I can't.
No, I can. It's a possibility. It's worth it. Beyond worth it.
But I can't let myself do that. I can't let myself give in to my obsession. I need every thought in her brain. Every wish in her heart.
Starting with mint-chip ice cream. Ending some place more terrifying than any war zone.
The server takes our menus. Leaves with a huff of impatience.
"He's in a rush," I say.
"You were being rude. Wasting his time undecided."
"I was undecided?"
She nods yeah with a smile. "How long have you been in New York?"
"Four years."
"You're not used to it?"
"Depends on the day. People in London are busy, but it's not like here. We know we've been around for hundreds of years. We've survived wars, fires, famines. We know we'll get there."
"I was going to say we're rude in New York."
"You're matter-of-fact. Not polite, but not rude. Usually." My eyes find hers. "You've always lived here?"
She nods. "I've visited other places. Though, not recently. Besides the trip to the beach. The people there were still… not polite, but in a different way. Less impatient, more what are you doing here?"
"Because of your look?"
"Maybe. Or maybe they're like that."
"How long have you had teal hair?"
"A year and a half. I do get a lot of attention. Sometimes, I like it. Sometimes I want to disappear. But I can't."
"I know the feeling."
"Right. I chose my hair. It's not like… it's just hair. But it feels like me. When I see it in the mirror, I see myself." Her eyes pass over me again. "Is it the same for you? With your suit?"
"Not exactly."
"Do you try to look unruffled?"
"Yes."
She swallows her surprise. Expecting a non-answer, I guess. "But things do ruffle you?"
"Of course."
"What?"
"How much I want to cancel my day and take you back to my flat."
Her eyes go wide. For a second, her blush overwhelms her, then she works through it. "You're trying to dodge the question."
"It's the truth."
"But not what I asked."
"It is."
It's not that I want to take her to my flat to fuck her senseless, though I do.