Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“Okay,” she breathed. “Uh, um, right this way.”
I smirked as she turned around and added an extra sway to her hips as she led us to a table in the middle of the dining room.
“Could we have a booth, darlin’?” I asked her.
She looked up at me again, and then her gaze went to Montana standing behind me. The disappointment was obvious. Montana was on a level that far exceeded hers. With the scale being ten, the hostess was a solid seven, maybe eight if she fixed herself up. Montana was a twenty when she woke up in the morning.
“Oh, okay,” she said, not looking happy about putting us together in a booth.
She walked over to the nearest one. “Will this be all right?”
“It’s perfect,” I told her, then winked.
Her cheeks pinkened as she flushed.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she replied. “If I can get you anything, just let me know. Your server will be here in a few minutes.”
Montana moved to scoot into the booth, but I stayed in front of the hostess.
I checked her name tag, then slowly let my eyes move back up to her face. “Anything?” I asked in a low, husky tone.
She nodded, her eyes wide with excitement.
Leaning down to her ear, I touched her waist and whispered, “You strutted that sweet little ass in front of me.”
She shivered.
“If it was an invitation, then it’s accepted.”
She let out a shaky breath as I straightened back up, and she stared up at me with lust-filled eyes, then nodded.
Yep. Easy. Thank fuck I had a condom.
I slid into the booth then and picked up the menu. I could feel Montana’s eyes on me, and I tried to fight it, but my gaze met hers anyway. She was studying me as if I were some odd species she’d never seen.
“What?” I asked.
She placed her elbows on the table and leaned forward. Fucking hell, she didn’t need to do that. It just shoved her tits up and displayed them. I tried to keep my focus on her face. Although the swell of her chest was still in my line of vision.
“Did you just proposition the hostess?” she whispered.
I smirked. She’d picked up on that. “It wasn’t exactly difficult. She got wet the moment I walked in the door.”
Montana’s eyes widened. “Wow. That’s cocky.”
I licked my bottom lip. “I’m not cocky. I just know when a female wants my dick.”
She let out a short, surprised laugh. “Oh my God. I can’t believe you said that.”
I shrugged. “It’s the truth. I can read it well, and if they’re close enough to an eight, I’ll give them what they want. At least once. Depends on how good they are if there will be a second time. If they swallow, then a second time is a given.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Did you just rate looks by a number?” she asked me incredulously.
I nodded. “All guys do it. They might not admit it, but they think it.”
She leaned back against the seat, and her tits bounced. Shit. I reached down to adjust my cock.
“Guys are horrible. I wish I liked girls.”
I winced. Jesus, she needed to shut up.
“Don’t act like girls don’t do it too,” I said, jerking my eyes off her to study the menu, although I knew what I was going to order.
“I don’t,” she shot back immediately. “So, do you do this with all girls or just the ones you want to…you know?”
She was a stripper’s daughter, for God’s sake. Say the word fuck.
“If they’re at least a high seven and they have a cunt, then I’m gonna think about fucking them.” I didn’t look at her as I said it, but, damn, I was curious as to what her expression was now.
“Huh,” she said, and then there was a pause. “I guess I know what number I am then.”
Unable to help myself, I looked from the menu to her. “Is that so?”
She shrugged a shoulder, and one of her eyebrows slightly lifted. “You hate me. I disgust you. Not that I care if you want to have sex with me. I was just pointing it out. That means I’m not a seven. I’m a six or under. Anyway”—she opened the menu—“what’s good? This is overwhelming.”
I battled with clearing that assumption up for a moment, then said nothing and went back to staring blindly at my menu. She’d looked in a mirror. She didn’t need me to reassure her she was a walking wet dream. Most of the men in this restaurant were going to beat off with thoughts of her when they got alone. And she did care. The way her cheeks had turned a light pink gave her away.
“I almost always get the sweet bourbon burger,” I told her. “The mac ’n’ cheese bacon burger is good too. I’ve had it once or twice.”