Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Read Online Books/Novels: | Owning It (Metropolis #3) | |
|---|---|---|
Author/Writer of Book/Novel: | Riley Hart | Devon McCormack |
| Language: | English | |
| ISBN/ ASIN: | 1547042826 (ISBN13: 9781547042821) | |
| Book Information: | ||
Just out of an eighteen-year marriage, the last thing Jackson expects the first time he visits a gay bar is for a sexy, drunk, twenty-six-year-old twink to mistakenly climb into his Jeep. The twink part he’s good with, the drunk part…not so much. As far as Jackson’s concerned, the boy should come with a warning label. But Derek is not as flighty as Jackson thought…he’s actually pretty incredible. Getting to know the wild, funny man is a breath of fresh air. And when Derek calls him Daddy? Christ, he never thought something like that would feel so right. Derek has serious daddy issues, and his name is Jackson. He’s stubborn and controlling…and ever since Derek woke up in the silver fox’s condo, he can’t get Jackson out of his mind. Maybe because no matter how many times he throws himself at him, Jackson doesn’t take the bait. And maybe because Jackson is the one person who sees him for who he really is. But Derek loves a challenge, and he’s eager to rock Jackson’s world. Jackson isn’t interested in a meaningless hookup. He wants the real Derek, not just the sassy jokester everyone else sees. But it’s not easy for Derek to open up. He feels much safer guarding his heart. And Jackson needs to figure out the balance between living for himself and the mountain of responsibilities weighing him down. Derek and Jackson must find the common ground between hookup and commitment—if they can’t own their issues and work together to overcome their faults, they could smother the flame between them that’s just beginning to ignite. | ||
| Books in Series: | Metropolis Series by Riley Hart | |
| Books by Author: | Riley Hart Books | Devon McCormack Books |
1
Jackson
My car idles outside of Cockfight, one of the local gay bars recommended to me that I now realize I had no business being in. I’d felt like an idiot in there, felt out of place.
I whip my head around when I hear a noise behind me to see the back door jerk open and an obviously drunk blond stumble sloppily inside, proving exactly why I’d felt out of place at Cockfight.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask.
He looks a little loopy as he flops onto the seat, rolls his eyes at me, and replies, “Just need a breather. I’m sure I’m not the first person who’s been sprawled in the back of your Jeep.”
“No. Seriously—”
His phone rings, cutting me off. “Oh, this might be my Grindr guy.” The kid groans, then says, “Ugh. Not him.” He pulls the phone to his ear. “Hey, Gare-bear.”
Gare-bear? Jesus Christ. What the fuck is going on here?
“Don’t freak out. I’m making a quick stop and then heading home,” he says.
The last thing I want is some kid I don’t know arguing with whoever the fuck Gare-bear is, while in the back of my car. “You need to get out. Right now.”
“Oh my God. Give me like five seconds. You can drive, ya know?”
Drive? I’m not going to drive with him in my car.
“Listen—”
“I have to call you back. This Uber driver is wigging out on me,” he says as everything begins to click into place. He called a car to get a ride wherever he wants to go hook up with his Grindr guy.
“I need you to take me to Viewpoint over on Fifth and Cypress.”
Not happening. “No. You’re in no shape to hook up with anyone right now.”
“Who are you to tell me when I should or shouldn’t hook up? I’m not going to listen to some Uber driver about that. And I don’t mean that in a you’re-just-an-Uber-driver-so-your-opinion-doesn’t-mean-anything way. I mean it in an I-don’t-know-you-and-we’re-not-friends-so-butt-out way.”
Holy fucking shit. What in the hell is going on here?
We lock eyes in the rearview mirror and the look on his face suddenly turns into lust. I see the transition. He’s cute as fuck—a little guy with blond bangs that sweep across his forehead and a gorgeous, pouty mouth. Then I remind myself he’s drunk, and I could be old enough to be his dad and any thoughts of how sexy he is disappear.
“Heyyy,” he sings out with a wave. Oh yeah, he definitely just went from Grindr to me. He flashes me a smile and then adds, “Aren’t you a sexy motherfucker?”
“Look, kid…”
“If you call me that again, you’re gonna have to put a ring on it,” he tells me. Not likely. I had a ring on someone’s finger for eighteen years.
Suddenly, he leans forward and crawls over the console. He almost falls and his cheek bumps into the rearview mirror before he tumbles into the seat.
“I love the graying in your beard. Oh, and the scar by your eye. Are they gray? Fucking hot.”
I take a moment to enjoy the praise but then the reality of the situation hits me again. “You’re in no shape to—”
Then he’s crawling over the console again, toward me this time. “You need to tell me what you need. I’ll make you happy.”
He collapses on me and I sit here, unsure of what to do. It’s not often I feel this way. I’ve always had to take control, to have a good head on my shoulders, but I’ve never been in a situation where a sexy man I don’t know is climbing onto my lap.
“You looked comfy. Just let me lie here for a second,” he says. “One second.” Then…nothing.
What the hell just happened?
I look down at the guy passed out on me. I can’t stay parked in this space forever, but considering there’s a drunk-as-hell guy sleeping in my lap, I’m a little lost on what to do.
“Listen…kid…I have to…” I try to situate him, make him sit up a little, but he groans and his head falls onto my shoulder. All I can think is that he’s fucking lucky he got into the car with me. It could have been anyone, and in the shape he’s in, he definitely wouldn’t have been able to consent. There are a lot of people out there who wouldn’t care that he’s wasted.
“Let me get your phone.” I reach toward the passenger seat and try for his cell. “I can call your friend and—”
“No…please…just…so…tired.” He groans and settles in, nuzzling me like he just fucking needs to be close to someone, and damned if I don’t know then and there I’m not just calling some random friend or kicking this kid out of my car. Not when I can’t be sure he’ll be taken care of.
“Motherfucker.” I try to move him again and this time, he doesn’t reply, doesn’t fight me as I find a way to get him into the passenger seat and get the belt clicked around him.