Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“You’ve been lucky. You haven’t even had to clean up vomit in the bathrooms. Maybe I should talk to Oscar about that. You should have a turn on bathroom duty.”
I froze. “Wait…we have to clean it up if people puke?” I’d puked in here before, and…hell, I never thought about who’d had to clean it up. I was a dick.
“Did you think it magically disappears on its own?”
He had a point. “No one better upchuck on my shifts, that’s all I’m saying.” A light bulb went off, and I looked at Chuck. “Hey, Upchuck. That can be your new nickname.”
“Only if you want me to kick your ass, Rich Boy.”
The title he’d labeled me with felt like sandpaper against my skin. Of course, I’d just called him puke, but that was different. We all knew he wasn’t literal throw-up.
“Whatever,” I grumbled and made my way to the kitchen.
I kept to myself most of the night. We stayed steady, but not crazy-busy, which was good. A little after eleven, I came out of the bathroom, ready to head out for the night, only to see Brax lingering around in the kitchen.
Ridiculously, my pulse sped up. “Hey, bestie.”
“It’s Sunshine to you,” he teased back, which made me grin. This was a pleasant surprise. “So you got a handle on that shit for class?” he asked, the two of us walking out the back door.
“As good as I’m going to, I imagine.”
A rush of cool air hit me the second we walked outside. It was probably only in the fifties, so it wasn’t bad for me, but Brax had on his leather jacket—it was his proper bad-boy look—though I didn’t think Brax was a bad boy at all. Not really.
“You didn’t like it when Chuck called you rich boy,” he mused, and damn. How had he been able to tell? Was I that easy to read, or did Brax just pay more attention than most people?
“No, I don’t suppose I did. Should I have?”
“It’s true, though. You can’t help who you are any more than I can.”
He started walking toward his bike, and again, I found myself following him. “Wait. Slow your roll there, buddy. You hate who I am, and now you’re telling me I can’t help it.”
“I’m telling you there are some things you can change and some you can’t. Being a spoiled rich boy is in your DNA. How you approach it, that makes all the difference.”
“Wow…are you sure you shouldn’t be getting a degree in psychology?”
He threw a leg over his motorcycle, and I couldn’t help watching, taking in the way his jeans stretched tight around his thighs. He was so fucking sexy. I hated myself for how much I wanted him.
Brax just shrugged. “Maybe. And stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re remembering what it’s like to be on your knees for me and you’re dying for a repeat.”
“Um…no lies detected,” I replied. “Though I guess it could be the other way around—you sucking me.”
“Be good.”
“Aren’t you supposed to like being naughty?”
Brax gave me a half-grin that said he did. The two times we’d fucked around had both been in public places, and he’d been the one to lead the way to each. “Yeah, I guess I do, but I don’t like trouble, and you’re trouble with a capital T.” He tugged his helmet on, started his bike, and drove away.
Damned if I didn’t stand there and watch him go.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Brax
Ty texted me on and off all week. That part didn’t shock me as much as the fact that I’d replied to them. Each and every one. A few times I might have even messaged first. It was weird and confusing. I didn’t like it…and yet I did. We’d had a strange dynamic from the start. There had been no reason for us to enjoy bantering back and forth with each other, but we always had. While there were a whole lot of people I didn’t vibe with, his friends especially, I didn’t seek them out the way I often did with Ty. I didn’t wonder what the next thing to come out of their mouth would be or work through the best way to get the upper hand with them. I couldn’t make sense of it other than…well, he was fun.
Which was gross. He was Tyson fucking Langley, after all.
But now add our study session and texting, and yeah, it boggled my mind. Every time a message came through, I told myself I wasn’t going to respond, but I always did.
And I waited for him after work this week.
And, and, and… “Fuuuuuuck!” Now I was lying in bed and thinking about him too.
“You dead in there?” Asher banged on my door.
“Do dead men typically yell fuck?” I got up and unlocked it.
“I thought maybe it was a murder in progress.”