Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 73311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Tawny and me went way back.
She was my first kiss. My first hug. My first fuck.
Literally, she had all of my firsts.
I’d spent my entire teen years counting down the days until my vacation so I could spend more and more time with Tawny.
Tawny had also been my first introduction into how women intentionally fucked over men, though.
Of course, now that I was older, I realized that at Tawny’s and my age at the time, it wasn’t really surprising that she would move on without me.
“Can I help you?” I questioned.
Before she could answer, the diner’s door opened, drawing my attention, and I had to clench my fists in order not to stand up and stalk toward the woman—and the man whose arm was around her—who came into the diner moments later.
Imogen was beautiful.
Though she was small, it didn’t detract from her hotness, it just added to her adorableness.
She was sexy as hell, and I would bet that the woman knew it.
“Aaron?” Tawny’s soft voice drew my attention.
“What?” I snapped.
Tawny’s brows rose.
“I wanted to know if you wanted to go out to a movie sometime,” she offered quietly.
No. No, I did not.
I didn’t do public places.
The diner was one of my only exceptions. A man had to eat, after all.
That didn’t extend to the movies. Nor did it extend to bars or other social functions outside of hanging with the club.
“No thanks,” I immediately denied. “I’m busy.”
“Really?” she asked. “It sure looks like you’re busy.”
She looked at my book, tapping it lightly with one well-manicured fingernail, and I had to fight the urge to pull it to me so her bad vibes wouldn’t extend to it and taint it in any way.
“That’s a good one,” Imogen said as she passed. “My favorite book is the fourth and fifth in that series.”
I looked at the book, Cursor’s Fury by Jim Butcher, and smiled.
“Those are my favorites, too,” I muttered. “This is my sixth or seventh reread. I read it when I don’t have anything else that catches my interest.”
Imogen grinned.
“I’m the same,” she informed me. “Have you ever read Ilona Andrews?”
“The Beast Lord?” I grinned, naming one of the main characters. “Who hasn’t?”
“Umm,” Tawny said. “Who’s the Beast Lord?”
Silence followed her question, and I wondered if it’d be rude to get up and leave, asking the waitress to make my order to go and bring it out to me when it was done.
That would be rude, though, and I tried not to embarrass my mother who worked—and owned—the diner.
“Hello, Tawny.”
Speaking of the devil. My mother liked to walk through and greet the customers when she had the time.
“Hello, Mrs. Chastain,” Tawny said sweetly, greeting my mother like they were old friends.
I gritted my teeth.
“And hello, Imogen Wild.”
My brows rose.
“Your last name is Wild?” I asked her.
Imogen shrugged. “Daddy was a Wild one.”
I snorted.
She grinned.
Tawny cleared her throat.
“Mrs. Chastain, I’d like to order a special with a sweet tea.”
“And I’d like to make mine to go,” I told my mom. “I forgot I had to run by the prison to get my phone.”
My phone chose that moment to start vibrating in my pants.
Luckily, I knew who it was, though, and wasn’t worried about answering it.
If it rang again, then I’d answer it.
But it didn’t, and everybody was none the wiser that I’d just lied through my teeth.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” my mom murmured. “I was making a blueberry pie for you.”
My stomach clenched.
Blueberry pie was my favorite.
“I can swing by and pick up a piece on my way home,” I told her.
“But we’re in the opposite direction of your house. That wouldn’t make much sense.”
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“I know,” I muttered. “I’ll do the best I can, though.”
Which would be to come back by once I knew Tawny was gone.
Something I could tell that everyone realized, but wasn’t saying.
“I’ll save you a piece so you don’t have to come all the way back here,” Mom offered.
I nodded my head.
“Sounds good,” I grabbed the last four fried pickles and dipped them in ranch before shoving them into my mouth.
“You not on a diet today?” Mom asked, leaning her hip against the table across the room.
“No,” I muttered. “It’s Wednesday. No calorie counting on Wednesdays.”
She snorted and got up, walking to the cash register and tallying something up before going on her tiptoes to place Tawny’s order.
“You gonna sit down, friend?”
I looked over my shoulder to see the man, my breath leaving me in a whoosh when I heard the word ‘friend.’ The way he’d said it made it sound like she really was his friend, and not anything more. There was no suggestive tone or hinting at anything when he’d said ‘friend.’
Why that would make me fucking happy, I didn’t know, especially when I could tell Imogen was trouble.