Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
I don’t have to have lads tomorrow, but it damn sure has to be on the menu.
I’m a family man.
Through and through.
Rolling off our lumpy gray cloth couch is followed by me crossing the short distance to where she’s physically and verbally assaulting the coffeemaking device. Upon my arrival, I immediately notice the problem. The lifting of the cord is done on a crooked grin as is the plugging in.
Her dark brown eyes twitch in irritation. “Why was it unplugged?”
“Guessing someone unplugged it to use the toaster.”
“Ugh,” she grumbles and pushes the on button again, “I fucking hate that this stupid fucking kitchen only has one working outlet.” With the machine now successfully in motion, she looks up at me with a curious expression. “So, why’d she write her number down on paper instead of you just putting it in your phone?”
I lean my gray sweatpants covered arse against the edge of the counter. “She’s a different gen.”
“Like camped out for tickets to The Backstreet Boys or camped out for tickets to The Beach Boys?”
“Why are those the choices?”
Gabby grabs a k-pod from the nearby box. “Bitches love groups of pretty boys.”
Laughter escapes as I fold my arms across my chest. “Even you?”
“Hey, just because I’m singing for the same team you are right now, never forget I don’t mind playing bass for the other.” Her wink is given right before she shoves the object into the opening. “Now, which is it? BSB or BB?”
“I honestly don’t know her musical preferences – or remember her exact age – but if I’m making an educated guess, I’d say the former.”
“Okay, so you won’t be Driving Miss Daisy.”
My eyebrows lift in confusion. “What?”
“It’s an old movie,” she brushes off and slams down the handle. “A non-Elvis old movie making it not important to you. What is important is you’re not about to reenact it with this older, hot little piece.”
“How do you know she’s attractive?”
“Have you ever fucked an ugo?”
Goal Gabby.
Although, beauty is quite subjective, so I may have.
Not everyone has the same tastes in people or food or music, and that’s an amazing thing about this world.
At least to me.
“Uh-huh,” she sassily snips and points to the cabinet behind me. “Mug.”
“Manners.”
A good-natured laugh is given. “Jódete, coño.”
The response to being playfully told to piss off gets a similar one in a different tongue. “Go n-ithe an cat thú is go n-ithe an diabhal an cat.”
Gabby snickers at the old Irish phrase she knows so well, shakes her head, and sighs. “Por favor?”
I grab her the closest chipped mug while sporting an amused smirk.
One of the best parts of speaking three languages is being able to insult people in just as many. The only thing better is reserved for the bedroom or for the route to get there.
“So, was the shit like hard to get?” She asks as she transfers the cup from my possession to hers. “Did she not wanna give you her number, and you had to turn up the accent charm from an eight to a ten?”
Grinning wide instantly occurs.
“You know that shit turns us into fucking putty. It can make even the strongest chick loving chick consider bending, primo.”
“Don’t say that shite too loud.” I teasingly tilt my head to one side. “The last thing I need is for Big T to hear it. She already hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” Gabby insists on another push of a button. “She just hates that I live with you because to her all men are raping, racist, misogynists determined to control a woman by any means necessary.”
Horror immediately replaces humor.
“Typically, she just channels all that hate into tongue fucking the shit out of me.” My best mate beams up at me proudly. “Works out perfect for everyone.”
“Everyone?” the echoed retort is given on a small snigger. “How does that work out for me exactly?”
“Stop being so fucking literal,” she impishly scolds prior to switching subjects. “And back to the hottie with an older body-”
“Nothing about Harper is old.”
The bite in my comeback causes her to dramatically gasp. “Is that alpha dick shit, I’m sensing?” Her theatrical ways continue. “Did your balls finally finish dropping so now I’m hearing a bit of bass in that mixed boy voice?”
“You are bloody ridiculous.”
“And you are bloody smitten,” she mocks with a terrible Irish accent.
Fuck, I am.
Like the schoolboy who got that golden ticket to the chocolate factory in that old movie.
My God, Harper is chocolate.
I want her in my mouth and melting on my tongue. And melting on my fingers for me to then lick off one by one. I wanna have a nibble to tease my senses, play tricks on them, give them the tiniest taste, and then briefly take it away before completely devouring her bite after bite until I reach a point of satiation I’ve never felt in my entire life.