Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
We go our separate ways when we enter the store, and although I have no idea what she’s buying, I need some regular damn soap. I’ve had to fight an erection since I got in the shower this morning and was forced to use her damn soap. The scent has been on my skin all morning, and it’s driving me to the point of insanity.
With the store being small with low shelving, I can see the top of her head on the next aisle, and I watch as she pulls formula, wipes, and diapers into her arms. It seems she doesn’t trust her cousin either.
“Sylvie Davis. Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”
My head snaps up, and I watch a guy round the corner of the shelf and step in close to her. It takes less than the blink of an eye for this man to wrap his arms around her and draw her into his chest, uncaring of the things in her arms wedged between them. He steps back but not far enough to put any level of appropriate distance between the two of them.
I drop the bar of soap back onto the shelf and walk an aisle over, coming up behind him rather than her.
“Sorry,” I say, not meaning it at all when I bump his shoulder as I walk past and damn near press myself against her back.
The guy doesn’t even look at me, his eyes firmly planted on the woman standing in front of me.
“I didn’t know you were coming to town. We should have lunch and catch up.”
I scoff at his brazen suggestion, but my jaw hangs open when Sylvie quickly agrees.
“That sounds like a great idea.”
Slowly, the man lifts his eyes, a victorious grin on his lips.
“Will Varon,” he says, holding out his hand.
I look down at the thing, not offering mine until Sylvie elbows me in the stomach.
“I’m an old friend of Sylvie’s,” he says as I take his hand.
“Dylan Pratt.”
I don’t miss Will’s assessing eyes dropping to my leather cut.
It’s a conversation starter. Most people ask questions about it because despite a popular television series, many have never actually casually run into someone who actually lives a biker lifestyle. Not long after the judgment comes the questions, and then the opinions.
Living with a group of men and women isn’t natural.
It’s impossible to make a home out of people with such loose morals.
Do you get a lot of pussy?
I bet women are just gagging to fuck you.
The first two are from the prudish women, the ones who voice their opinions despite never being asked for them. The last two are from the men who wish their lives were different and always whispered after looking around to see if anyone else is listening.
Consequently enough, the prude and the unhappy guys are usually married and claim to be happy together.
Will doesn’t open his mouth to ask a single question as he squeezes my hand harder than he has any reason to, but I understand the attempt at asserting dominance. I squeeze harder, grinning a little when the corners of his eyes crease in pain.
The man is completely out of place in this small country store. Where everyone is in jeans and flannel, he’s in an expensive suit and tie. He’s giving off seriously bad vibes, like evil is rolling off his back.
“So lunch?” the guy prods, as he pulls his hand away, fingers working to open and close his fist after losing our little strength battle.
“I’ll have to meet you. I’m going—”
“I haven’t seen you in over ten years. I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”
His voice is laced with authority, slick like a snake’s tongue. There’s no way Sylvie will fall for it.
Then the woman shrugs. “If you don’t mind. It would be great to catch up.”
“It’ll be no different from all the other times I followed you around like a lost puppy,” Will says as Sylvie turns and walks toward the register like I don’t even exist.
Will shoulder checks me on his way past, and it takes more strength than I thought I had when I don’t wrap my fingers around his throat and choke him out right there in the middle of the grocery store.
“I’ll meet you outside,” he says as she places her items on the counter for purchase.
She nods at him, throwing a smile at him I’ve only ever seen that day at the care facility while she was interacting with her grandfather.
Stepping in beside her, I pull out my debit card when the cashier tells her the total, ignoring her argument as I pay for the items for the baby. I grip the handle of the bag before she can take it, walking a few feet away so the next customer can check out.
“I don’t want you going with him.”