Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 31869 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31869 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
“It’s a prank I’ve been waiting to unload on my husband for a long time now, and if I’m gonna give in and pop my pussy tonight like you whores suggested, he’s going to have to earn it.”
“Don’t tell me that hotel is, like, some kind of brothel,” Georgia exclaimed squeamishly, and Cassie laughed.
“Don’t worry, G. I didn’t send your precious Big Dick to a brothel,” she retorted. “Plus, it’s not like he’d ever go for something like that. He’s too in love with his beautiful wife.”
“Damn straight,” Georgia agreed. “But seriously, what is at that hotel?”
Cassie grinned. “Don’t worry, you’ll find out soon enough.”
“One-hit knockout,” Jude taunted as he got out of Thatch’s SUV, swinging his fist in an air punch. “How about that, Ty?”
Ty tried to ignore him, but Jude was a lot like my best friend Thatch—a walking, talking fucking parasite you couldn’t get rid of—and his air punch might as well have landed square in the middle of Ty’s stomach for how it felt.
“I mean, I know I said Marullo would own Lackey’s ass, but I didn’t realize just how much he’d own his ass, you know?” Jude continued as he met Ty at the front of the car, wrapping his arm around Ty’s shoulders with a jovial, shit-eating grin. “I bet you’re feeling pretty salty now after calling my bluff and wagering two hundo on Lackey, huh?”
“You’re such a dick.” Ty shoved him off on a laugh. “And I’m a fucking moron for even humoring your stupid bet.”
“Moron or not,” Thatch mused with a smirk, “you did make me realize that the next time I go to Vegas, Jude is coming with.”
I shook my head on a chuckle. “The two of you fuckers in Vegas is not a good plan for anyone.”
“Pretty sure when you say, not a good plan, you mean a fan-fluffing-tastic plan, Wesley.”
“Nope,” I refuted. “I meant horrible plan. Terrible plan. One you should only do if you want to end up in a Las Vegas jail with a man named Sparky trying to stick his dick in your pretty mouth every five seconds.”
Jude waggled his brows. “I’d do a night with Sparky if it meant I got to keep all the money Thatch and I would win.”
“You’re not gonna win shit if you spend your time at the Texas Hold’em tables,” Ty chimed in on a chuckle, all too happy to be on the other end of the teasing now. “Because you’re fucking terrible at poker.”
“What the fuck ever, bro. You and I both know I’m aces at poker,” Jude boasted through an amused smirk. “I was just going easy on you this morning to keep from crippling your fragile little ego.”
Ty flipped him the bird.
“Why don’t you fly that finger to the bank, dude? I’d like the two hundo you owe me in all twenties. Thank you in advance.”
“You can fuck right off.” Ty teasingly shoved Jude in the chest and headed toward the entrance doors of the New Continental Hotel.
Thatch, Jude, and I followed his lead, and not too far behind, Remy and Flynn were getting out of Kline’s SUV and walking in our direction.
After watching the fight at a local pub called the Watering Hole, I’d thought we’d head home to the women to drown ourselves in a couple of drinks and then retreat to our bedrooms to spend time drowning our dicks in something else. But I hadn’t driven myself, and now we were at a random fucking hotel because Thatch insisted it was the place to be tonight.
If you asked me, it sounded like a recipe for disaster.
“What are we even doing here?” I asked as Thatch stepped forward to open the door.
“Enjoying a guys’ night at the most happening place in Greenwood.”
“And how do you know this exactly?” Kline asked rationally. “You’re not from Greenwood. You’ve never been to Greenwood. You don’t know fuck all about Greenwood.”
“Relax, Klinehole, my wife has her finger on the pulse.”
“Wait…” I stopped dead in my tracks, causing a pileup of men behind me. But this was even worse than I suspected. “Cassie is the one who told you about this?”
“Yep.”
I narrowed my eyes. “And when exactly did she tell you this?”
“What’s with the twenty fluffing questions?” he retorted. “My wife gave me the 4-1-1 on a hot spot with free drinks and live music. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that you and Cassie are one damn running joke after another,” Kline offered, already knowing where my head was at with this. “You prank as easily as you breathe, and I’m still getting fucking subscription texts from the Dick-pullers of America Association.”
“Dick-pullers of America?” Jude asked excitedly. “Is that a real thing?”
“Stop being so paranoid,” Thatch chastised, ignoring Jude along with the rest of us. “My wife isn’t pranking us.”