Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80302 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80302 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
I stare down at the bottle in my hands as I take a seat in one of many chairs situated in a circle.
The scent of oil and gasoline from numerous bikes in various states of assembly fill my nostrils.
Selective, or in my case not exactly selective, confusion has always been a struggle for me.
I don’t look around at the people in and connected to Cerberus and pick apart what my raising would consider sins, but I can’t help doing exactly that when it comes to myself.
I don’t see any of them as sinners. I have a strict policy of only saving that for myself.
Pressing two cold fingers to my lips, I try to feel the right amount of guilt I should feel for what happened with Drake tonight, but I can’t seem to manage it. Maybe because of the adrenaline or pleasure, but I just can’t muster the shame I should be feeling.
I enjoyed what happened tonight. I crossed a line I’ve never crossed before. I probably wouldn’t consider it as sinful, if there was such a scale on ranking sin, as some of the things I’ve done in the past.
I justified those experiences because it was something actively done to me rather than something I was doing myself.
Tonight, I pulled Drake closer. I tilted my head and opened my mouth wider when he urged me to do so with his tongue.
I was completely engaged and enthusiastic in my participation, but everyone is a sinner, right?
I’m having a hard time seeing the wrong in what I’ve done. If everyone is a sinner, and sins are forgiven, then why not live a sinful life?
I’m not even religious any longer. I don’t pray or repent. I’m a good person. I help others. I don’t usually lie, mostly because I don’t open my mouth very often. I save the lying for myself when I inch dangerously close to rock bottom.
How can I say it’s okay for others, but not allow it to be okay for myself?
I’m sure Slick would have the answers to several of these questions, but I just can’t bring myself to ask her.
I convince myself that I have to just keep my distance from Drake. If I’m not near him, then I won’t be enticed to act on any of my temptations.
But hours later, after leaving the garage, showering, and heading to bed, my mind wanders as I drift to sleep about what all I’d like to do to him and for him to do to me.
Chapter 8
Drake
I’ve always been a strike while the iron is hot kind of guy. I know what it’s like to miss opportunities and later regret not taking risks.
It’s what told me to lean closer and press my lips to Boomer’s.
His confession of never kissing a man before echoes in my head as I serve Maude another drink. She’s in a reflective mood tonight, a drastic difference to the flirty mood she’s usually in.
I thought Boomer whispered those words as an excuse to step away, and I was floored and turned on more than I ever have been in my life when he kissed me again. Hoping something would happen and it actually occurring had always seemed like a farfetched anomaly to me. Of course, each time I flirted with the man, I prayed it would end much like it did earlier in the hallway, but I never really expected it to come to fruition. It’s almost like looking at house plans online that would never be within your budget. You invest the time, knowing, deep down, the impossibility of it.
I scrape my teeth over my lower lip, somehow still feeling him there even an hour after he made his hasty retreat. I can stand behind the bar and fantasize about the direction things could’ve taken with him all night long, but there’s also that part deep inside my head that warns me of getting so lost in someone. I did that once before, and it was the very relationship I spoke of at the domestic violence event. Kenny chipped away bits and pieces of me, and even years later, there are days I still don’t feel whole. I’ll never give another person that much power over me.
“I’ll find a ride,” I hear Ugly say as he approaches the bar with Harley and Alyssa not far behind him. “I’m not some old married couple like everyone else.”
“I feel like that’s a fucking jab at me,” Aro mutters. “I’m not old, just tired as fuck.”
“It’s not even midnight,” Ugly grumbles.
“Sow your wild oats, young one,” Harley says, as he claps Ugly on the back with one hand while using his other arm to draw Alyssa tighter to his chest. “Us geriatrics are going to bed.”
Ugly’s lip twitches as he noticeably scans the couple. “I don’t think you’re going to sleep.”