Left for Wild - Harloe Rae Page 0,117

miss you, Gray.”

A rumble rises off his chest. “Yeah? Try forgetting me while you’re at it. You’ll be better off.”

I don’t bother responding. With that final blow, a gate slams shut between us. The clang ripples through me, solidifying what I’ve been trying to deny. This is the end of us. But this has always been the story of a girl desperately in love with a boy. Irrevocably and unrequited.

I’m ready to leave these well-worn pages behind.

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And here is an excerpt from another favorite, Gent. Enjoy this taste of Trey!

“Did you hear what I said?”

At her question, my gaze shifts to connect with the woman’s stare. She’s an unfamiliar face, probably lured into town by the specialty shops off Main Street. Sitting closer than socially acceptable, she’s almost stuck on me. The bar is crowded tonight, though. I let the proximity slide, but her attempt at conversation is pushing it too far.

I came to Dagos for a few beers after work, not to engage in chit-chat. Usually I won’t hesitate sampling fresh meat, gladly gobble up what’s being offered, but not today. Try as she might, this chick is striking out with me. I have zero intentions of giving her the quick fuck she’s been practically begging for since sitting down.

I clear my throat. “Ma’am, I’m not interested.”

“Excuse me?” she says as her eyes widen. “Ma’am? That’s what you call a grandmother. Do I look old to you?”

The dial on her annoying meter cranks up a few notches. I’m not stupid enough to fall into her trap, but still bite my tongue to keep the insults from barreling out.

I quickly scan her pinched face, covered with powdery shit likely meant to hide her age. I was trying to be polite by using a respectful term, but she’s clearly not the type. I rub my forehead while blowing out a breath, frustration already building like a storm cloud.

“I mean no offense,” I grind out between clenched teeth, “but I’m spending the evening solo. Cheers.” I raise my bottle in a lame-ass salute.

The yappy broad huffs and rolls her eyes. It seems she might spit more crap my way, but then her attention darts to a man across the room. She eagerly slips off the stool, nearly spilling her drink with the jerky movements. She glances back at me, shooting daggers from her eyes.

“Asshole,” she shoots over her shoulder before sauntering off.

Good fucking riddance.

I lift the nearly empty beer to my lips, but a burst of laughter interrupts me.

“Wow. You sure know how to pick ‘em. How are you still single with suave moves like that?”

“Not you too,” I mutter without turning around, recognizing the raspy voice immediately. “Was the entire female race set on driving me fucking crazy?” My chin tilts skyward as I silently ask for patience… or a fucking break. Neither will come for me.

“Would it kill you to be nice?” Addison rests her arms against the bar next to me.

I puff air through my clenched teeth. “Most likely. And I was nice. I called her ma’am.”

“You know girls hate that,” she shoots back. “It’s a dig more than anything and makes us feel old. Might as well call her a raging bitch or wrinkled hag.”

“Those names seem more appropriate. Thanks,” I chuckle but there’s no humor behind it.

“Don’t start, Trey. You know I’m right.”

“I’m not saying shit. Just thinking I might use those instead.”

“You’re impossible.”

“That’s the point.”

“What-ev-er,” Addison singsongs while glancing around. “Where’s Jack?”

“Still at the shop.”

“Burning the midnight oil?”

“In more ways than one. Had a rough day.”

She tilts her head and gives me a once-over. “You too?”

“Don’t I always?”

“Meh, I suppose. You’re always a grump so it’s tough to tell the difference.”

“And here I thought we were exchanging pleasantries.”

“You and pleasant will never go together.” Addison hitches a thumb over her shoulder. “Running off that lovely lady is a prime example.”

I grunt and shake my head. “She deserved it for being so desperate.”

She snorts and elbows me. “Why are you such a dick? All that handsome is going to such shameful waste. You need to find someone to treat right.”

Peering at Addison, all toned limbs and tan skin, I consider a quick fuck after all. I grip the cool bottle, picturing her soft flesh giving in to me.

“Why haven’t we ever—”

“No way. I know that look,” she says. “I see you give women those bedroom eyes every Friday night only to watch them turn cold the following morning. I