Read Online Lycan Alpha Claim 3 by Tamara Rose Blodgett, Marata Eros - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tamara Rose Blodgett, Marata Eros
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in the pronoun.
“The owner! The hunky, delicious, panty-evaporating, very, very rich owner...”
I shrug. “He walked in, helped pick me up off the floor, while I was stuffing my dirty money in my handbag...”
“Did I mention rich?” Her perfectly plucked brows rise. “Did you see him?” Kiki's eyes are wide for a different reason now.
I shake my head, trying not to let on how much he unnerved me. And I never even saw his face.
Kiki flings herself back in an indignant huff. Her angry eyes meet mine. “I've been dying to meet him! Meet him meet him, not just him seeing a set while his dude slips me a ginormous tip. I'd sample his wares any day!” She exhales and crosses her legs, looking out at the water. Steelhead Diner sits at the top of Pike Street. The wall of glass frames Puget Sound and the Olympic Mountains like a surreal painting of white ice and swirling deep cerulean waters.
“Why didn't you check him out? I gotta admit, I'm fanning my vagina right now.” Kiki says it with such sincere enthusiasm that I laugh.
I look down at my hands and give the first response that springs to mind. “I don't like rich guys.”
“Oh bullshittery! Yeah, I hate rich guys too! Hate.” She’s clearly mocking me, putting her index finger to her chin as her eyes rise skyward and her foot kicks endlessly. “Let's reason this shit out, Faren.” Kiki drills me with her gaze.
I squirm, knowing her brand of wisdom is coming. I take a bite of my salad and mechanically chew.
“Nice house, nice car, nice clothes, hot cologne”—she lifts her brows—“lots o’ gym time for the guns. Hell!” She smacks the table, and a couple of other patrons gaze our way. “Hell,” she repeats more softly, “I bet that he goes to those Kama Sutra classes so he can fine-tune the Moves.”
Oh my God.
“Yeah... that's what I'm talking about, baby. Give me some of that all-day love sauce. I'll come running back to double dip.”
I can't help it; I start laughing and can't stop. Sometimes a little comic relief goes a long way.
“You gonna live?” Kiki asks, confused by my hysteria.
I nod.
“For now.” My ribs are killing me.
“Anyway, listen up.”
I do, the remnants of my laughter ghosting my lips.
“Next time he plays hero, try saying thank you.”
“I don't think he knew he was saving me, Kiki.”
“Huh,” she grunts, slurping her Coke down to melting ice and pushing it away. “All I'm saying is, can you work it for once, Faren?”
Work it. I don't know… that seems like it's all I've ever done.
Kiki slides a card my way. It reads simply: Thorn. My thumb moves over the black glossy letters embedded deeply in the cream cardstock. Small numbers float beneath the name.
I look up and she says, “Take it.”
“Do you do it?”
Kiki smiles then admits, “Not anymore.”
I know her secret, and now she knows mine. All of it in its miserable glory. “That's how you got the penthouse?”
“Yeah.” As she remembers something from a while ago, her gaze drifts far away. “The Black Rose is great money, but this money”—her eyes peg mine—“is outstanding money.” I pause when I see the shadow in her eyes.
Neither one of us say what we're thinking. If I can keep this gig for maybe a year? Maybe less time if I can stomach four days per week instead of three? I could have my debt paid off and only have the monthly to consider. It's too lofty a possibility to hang my hope on.
Yet... it shimmers there, just out of reach.
I grab for it.
*
Thorn
Thorn is Ty.
I’m so forlorn about that fact I can barely force myself into his tight office located inside a tall skyscraper blocks from the Black Rose. Kiki didn't tell me. Of course, I didn’t ask. All I heard was “a grand a night,” and I climbed on board the easy money train. I should rename it complicated with a capital C.
He behaves differently. I guess the stakes are higher. Intimidating me while I work at the BR seems to be just fine.
“The owner! The hunky, delicious, panty-evaporating, very, very rich owner...”
I shrug. “He walked in, helped pick me up off the floor, while I was stuffing my dirty money in my handbag...”
“Did I mention rich?” Her perfectly plucked brows rise. “Did you see him?” Kiki's eyes are wide for a different reason now.
I shake my head, trying not to let on how much he unnerved me. And I never even saw his face.
Kiki flings herself back in an indignant huff. Her angry eyes meet mine. “I've been dying to meet him! Meet him meet him, not just him seeing a set while his dude slips me a ginormous tip. I'd sample his wares any day!” She exhales and crosses her legs, looking out at the water. Steelhead Diner sits at the top of Pike Street. The wall of glass frames Puget Sound and the Olympic Mountains like a surreal painting of white ice and swirling deep cerulean waters.
“Why didn't you check him out? I gotta admit, I'm fanning my vagina right now.” Kiki says it with such sincere enthusiasm that I laugh.
I look down at my hands and give the first response that springs to mind. “I don't like rich guys.”
“Oh bullshittery! Yeah, I hate rich guys too! Hate.” She’s clearly mocking me, putting her index finger to her chin as her eyes rise skyward and her foot kicks endlessly. “Let's reason this shit out, Faren.” Kiki drills me with her gaze.
I squirm, knowing her brand of wisdom is coming. I take a bite of my salad and mechanically chew.
“Nice house, nice car, nice clothes, hot cologne”—she lifts her brows—“lots o’ gym time for the guns. Hell!” She smacks the table, and a couple of other patrons gaze our way. “Hell,” she repeats more softly, “I bet that he goes to those Kama Sutra classes so he can fine-tune the Moves.”
Oh my God.
“Yeah... that's what I'm talking about, baby. Give me some of that all-day love sauce. I'll come running back to double dip.”
I can't help it; I start laughing and can't stop. Sometimes a little comic relief goes a long way.
“You gonna live?” Kiki asks, confused by my hysteria.
I nod.
“For now.” My ribs are killing me.
“Anyway, listen up.”
I do, the remnants of my laughter ghosting my lips.
“Next time he plays hero, try saying thank you.”
“I don't think he knew he was saving me, Kiki.”
“Huh,” she grunts, slurping her Coke down to melting ice and pushing it away. “All I'm saying is, can you work it for once, Faren?”
Work it. I don't know… that seems like it's all I've ever done.
Kiki slides a card my way. It reads simply: Thorn. My thumb moves over the black glossy letters embedded deeply in the cream cardstock. Small numbers float beneath the name.
I look up and she says, “Take it.”
“Do you do it?”
Kiki smiles then admits, “Not anymore.”
I know her secret, and now she knows mine. All of it in its miserable glory. “That's how you got the penthouse?”
“Yeah.” As she remembers something from a while ago, her gaze drifts far away. “The Black Rose is great money, but this money”—her eyes peg mine—“is outstanding money.” I pause when I see the shadow in her eyes.
Neither one of us say what we're thinking. If I can keep this gig for maybe a year? Maybe less time if I can stomach four days per week instead of three? I could have my debt paid off and only have the monthly to consider. It's too lofty a possibility to hang my hope on.
Yet... it shimmers there, just out of reach.
I grab for it.
*
Thorn
Thorn is Ty.
I’m so forlorn about that fact I can barely force myself into his tight office located inside a tall skyscraper blocks from the Black Rose. Kiki didn't tell me. Of course, I didn’t ask. All I heard was “a grand a night,” and I climbed on board the easy money train. I should rename it complicated with a capital C.
He behaves differently. I guess the stakes are higher. Intimidating me while I work at the BR seems to be just fine.
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