Page 6 of Sling’s Awakening

Nope.

“Hey!” I yell so loud my throat burns and my voice threatens to give out.

He’s going to hear me this time.

This time his head turns my way.

He turns off his bike.

The only sound that can be heard is my labored breathing as I run toward him.

An amused smirk is on his face as I approach. He has one hand resting in his front pocket and his other leg propped out. He looks like the definition of calm, cool, and collected, motherfucker.

Too bad I was spawned from the pits of hell and am about to set fire to his calm, cool, and collected.

“Can I help you with something?” he asks as he looks me up and down.

I come to a stop a few steps in front of him. I’ve always considered myself tall for a girl. Standing at 5’8” I’ve always towered over my friends, and any guy I’ve dated in the past hated when I wore heels because I would tower over them.

Kind of ironic, considering I used to be a stripper.

They could pry my pleasers out of my cold dead hands.

But this man is towering over me.

I’m not in heels, but I know if I had them on, he would still make me feel small. And that's hot.

Very fucking hot.

I glare at him. Fuck him for making me like that.

“Yeah, actually you can,” I say as I cross my arms, my tone laced with attitude.

His eyes move to my tits. The thin material of the oversized T-shirt leaves little to the imagination from being washed so many times. The only reason I haven’t thrown it out is that it’s so worn down that it feels incredibly soft.

I sassily clear my throat. “My eyes are up here.”

His green eyes slowly rise to mine, amusement shining bright as day in them.

I’m glad he finds this so fucking funny.

“Again, what can I help you with, Blake?” he asks, his gravelly voice sending a shiver down my spine.

Damn the man for being this hot.

It’s criminal, really.

“How do you know my name if we haven’t formally met before?”

“Lucky guess.”

Hmm… lucky guess or was someone more affected by my note than they’re letting on?

“I left a note for you yesterday asking you very nicely—” okay, we both know that’s a lie, “—not to play around with your bike at seven in the morning.” I glare at him, holding my ground.

His brows raise. “That was you asking me nicely?”

“I could have told you to shove your bike up your ass, but I didn’t.” I shrug.