Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 76736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“About—about quarter way. It's good,” I add in a rush. “You're really talented. I didn't mean to, but once I started, I couldn't stop reading.”
Is that a blush, or just anger? “That—that doesn't give you the right to fucking nose through my stuff.” The insecurity is so uncharacteristic that I'm almost surprised I'm talking to the same guy.
“I'm sorry, but you gave it to me. I just—well, I just couldn't stop. It's really good.” Really hot. Though I don't want to admit that part.
“No it isn't. Just rambles.” He closes the book with a smack, locking away the emotions bled onto its pages at the same time. “I don't know why I bothered.”
“I—” No, I shouldn't engage. He'll just get angry.
“You what? Come on, go ahead and say it. I fucking dare you.” He actually looks hurt, like I've managed to dig into something under his shell of wildness just by reading it. Then again, who else has? Probably no one. It reminds me of when I've written a new song on my guitar and the terror that someone might actually hear me play it.
“I think I know what it's like,” I admit shyly.
“You have no fucking idea.”
“No, probably not. Not exactly.” I rush the words out before I lose my nerve. “But that's how I get my emotions out too. Not by writing words, but songs. Melodies, sometimes lyrics—so sometimes words, I guess.”
“You don't know anything about my emotions.” Dismissive, but maybe curious too? He's still standing there. I kind of figured he'd stomp off with the journal by now to hide it away. I can't help myself but to explore this vulnerable side of such a chaotic man.
“I think you feel them deeply, and that when you can't hide them under your crazy shell, you need to express them somewhere safe. There.” I point at the book in his hands. His grip on it relaxes and his expression softens, just a little. “I'm sorry I invaded something private, but your writing's really good. I mean that.”
“Yeah?” He wets his lips, and for a moment I glimpse the blunt end of his tongue stud. Janey's words come to mind. You'd think it was the warning with her knife at my throat to keep away from the guys that would be what I thought of first, but it's not. “Maybe you do get it. When I write—that's when I can be calm, you know. Just be me in my own head for a while.” He actually smiles briefly, and it's genuine, not cocky, or mischievous or naughty. Real. “Fuck, I sound like an idiot, don't I?”
“No! No, you don't.” I put a hand on his forearm, then yank it back like I burned it. What am I doing? Is he going to get mad at me for touching him? But he's not. He just watches me like he's waiting for me to continue. “Listen, I hope the journal helps, like my music does. What I wouldn't give for a guitar right now.”
His lips curl into something closer to his usual smirk. “Yeah? What would you give? The offer of a wild ride is still on the table.” He leans forward and sticks out his tongue.
It doesn't help that there's still roiling heat between my legs from that last dirty passage I read. The one where he—God, I can't even think it. To know that Wild Child was the one to actually write that is sexier than any six pack.
Of course, he's got that too.
I shouldn't, but it's tempting. My situation is a whole other world from my old life. Like it's all made up. Nothing I do here matters, does it? Not really, and when would I ever get this opportunity again? Wild Child is hot—all the guys are—and that they're the danger I was raised to fear only adds to it.
In one of my dirty romances, I'd already be making my rounds around the whole club, right?
Do I want my first time to be with one of them? With Wild Child? What would he do to me? My fantasies spin off in all sorts of directions, but all of them amazing.
And what about Janey? But why would Wild Child tell her? There’s only us two here.
“You can get me a guitar?” The words slip out before I realize that I've already come to a decision.
His eyes widen when he realizes that while I haven't said yes, I'm not saying no either. His smirk widens. “Of course I can. The question is if you want to pay for it.”
It's up to me, I guess.
“Not all the way. I'm not—not ready for that.”
He nods, not looking discouraged at all. “Here's a deal. I'll make you feel so fucking good, you won't know what to do with yourself. Then we'll see how long it takes before you come begging for the full package. My bet? Not long.” He puts his strong, tattooed arms down on either side of me as he leans in, his full lips only inches from mine. This close, I can feel his warmth, and it's a little overwhelming. The rich green of his eyes sparkles, making me tingle all the way down.