Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
My instinct was to step away, to make it clear that no, I was not dating Wolf Brookes. I never liked drawing attention to our dating for that reason. It made me feel judged, not good enough.
Instead, though, I held my head high. My self-worth is not dependent on external validation.
Evidently, theirs was, though. I knew any one of those girls would kill for five minutes of Wolf’s time, and they didn’t even know him. He could have been a total asshole, and they wouldn’t care. I almost pitied them. Although when I thought about that, it was pretty dehumanizing for Wolf. Like he was nothing more than the sum of his pretty face and ability to throw a ball.
The blonde of the group broke free, smiling like a practiced pageant queen when she approached Wolf and asked for a selfie. Tuning out the sound of their voices, I scrolled on my phone. Halfway through her fan-girling, a Lonely Fans notification ribbon popped up at the top of my screen. In my panicked bid to get rid of it, I accidentally opened it to a new message from PussyHunter69. Shit. I fumbled, trying to close the app and—
“Pussy Hunter sixty-nine?”
I jumped when Wolf’s voice drifted over my shoulder. Shame and humiliation burned through me while I stood there, frozen, like a kid who’d been caught doing something they shouldn’t by a parent.
I glanced at Wolf, then past him to where the group of girls were now huddled around the blonde, staring at her phone screen. “Done with your adoring fans so soon?”
My phone dinged again with a Lonely Fans notification, and I stupidly looked at the screen. The screen with the chat still right there on it.
PussyHunter69: I’ll suck that chocolate sauce off your toes while I stroke my dick.
Kill me. Why the hell did I have my notifications on for my dodgy sex site?
“Jesus Christ. I know shit’s bad, but fucking Lonely Fans?”
The people in front of us turned and stared. I crammed the device into my pocket, my face heating to a nuclear level.
“What? Why would you say that?” I doubled down. Nothing on that message thread said Lonely Fans. Just the color scheme, the logo, and the general assumption that it was clearly a sex site based on the use of chocolate sauce and dick stroking. Still…
“The LF logo in the corner, Jade.” Frowning, he gave me a disapproving shake of his head. Like his criminally laden, immoral character had any right to judge me.
I lifted a brow. “How do you know what the Lonely Fans logo looks like?”
“I’m not on it, if that’s what you mean.” His disgust over that was clear.
Whatever. “It’s none of your business.” I turned my focus to the old-as-dirt check-out lady who I really wished would scan the items a little faster.
“It will be my business when Pussy Hunter sixty-nine murders you so he can cut off your feet at the ankles and use them to ‘stroke his dick.’”
“Oh, my God.” I turned back to him, annoyed by this whole situation. “It’s safe. They aren’t even allowed to talk about meeting in person, or the app bans them.”
“You think he can’t find your IP address and hunt you down? I mean, it’s in his name, Jade. Pussy Hunter!”
“You’re ridiculous. He doesn’t know who the hell TwinkleToes123 is.” If he followed my IP, he’d end up at a frat house.
Confusion wrinkled his brow. “You used the nickname you gave me as your Lonely Fans handle?”
He said that loudly enough that the group of fawning girls was now staring. It was probably only a matter of time before they pulled out their phones and filmed the whole shitshow. Just what I needed. Jason Voorhees and Twinkle Toes.
I slapped my palm over his mouth, glaring up at him. “Announce it to the world; why don’t you?” Maybe I had used his nickname, but it was not deliberate. Well, not really. “And no, I did not use your nickname…” I whispered, lowering my hand from his face.
God, this was getting so weird. Cassie had come up with that name, and yeah, okay, maybe some vengeful little corner of my mind thought it to be a twisted kind of irony. “Well, I did, but… Can we just not talk about this?”
The line shuffled up. Of course, the lady in front of us pulled out a coupon wallet. Why did the universe hate me?
“It is my nickname.” He shoved a hand into his jeans pocket and pulled out a lavender lighter. One with a bunny ballerina on it.
My chest grew annoyingly warm and fuzzy. I had given him that lighter senior year as a joke after he’d told me he took ballet as a kid to make his mom happy. That was when I’d started calling him Twinkle Toes as a joke. Ironic, seeing as he was enormous and spent his spare time charging down a football field, taking people out.