Ash to Steele Read Online Free PDF Page B

jollies off last night, and irritation mixes with my already formidable frustration of not wanting to be here right now.  His audacity is appalling, rubbing me the wrong way with his ‘I’m God’s gift to anything with breasts and a thong’ attitude. 
       The buzzing of my phone pulls me from my unwanted thoughts of Breck, but not from my irritation, when Jess sends another text, this time asking me to bring the key to her at the bar.  Glancing over my completely inappropriate bar attire, I again wish I had taken the time to change out of my paint splattered t-shirt and run a brush through my unruly locks that are currently haphazardly thrown into a messy ponytail.  Sucking it up, I quickly make my way to the bar, stopping dead when I see Jess talking with none other than the infamous skirt hound himself.  Entertaining thoughts of various, ingenious ways that I can kill her fill my head before I witness her rigid spine and the pleading look in her eyes as she’s engrossed in her conversation with the so called sex-god. 
       Someone grabbing a handful of my rear drags me away from my indecision of whether or not to interrupt Breck and Jess’ conversation or just put the key behind the bar and get the hell out of here.  Shooting a scathing glare at the man copping a feel, I push through the crowd to the far side of the bar and slip behind the counter, tucking the key on the hidden wedge of metal between the cabinet and the drawers below.  Typing the fastest text of my life, I duck back into the crowd, not giving Breck a second glance and earnestly praying that he doesn’t see me. 
       The bitter wind is welcoming as I burst through the side doors into the alley.  Shoving my arms into my jacket, I zip it all the way and tuck my chin inside the collar, already dreading the impending winter weather.  The sound of the door closing behind me causes me to spin around, thinking it’s Jess. 
       “Sorry ‘bout your ass,” the man who is now intimately familiar with it slurs.
       Glancing over my shoulder, I seriously rethink my decision of taking the dark alley back to the street.  “All forgiven,” I mutter, quickening my pace.
       “Wait.” I hear him call out directly before hearing the sound of a loud thud. 
       I’m torn between sprinting the rest of the way to where I know people can be potential witnesses and stopping to make sure the man’s alright, but my bleeding heart wins.  The man struggles to stand, so I hesitantly return and help him off the ground.
       “You are an angel,” he states, showing his gratitude with a wide, lopsided smile. 
       By the aroma of alcohol on his breath, he’s definitely overly-indulged tonight.  “You alright to make it home?”
       “That depends; are you offering to take me?” he grins, “because I’d love to feel that ass with nothing covering it.”
        Clare Booth Luce is once again correct about punishment following good deeds.  “You touch me again, I’ll break your wrist,” I warn, reaching for my phone. “I can either call you a cab or call the police. Which would you prefer?”
       “Damn, I’m sorry,” he apologizes, moving towards me.  “I’ve had too much to drink tonight.  I didn’t mean to offend you.”
       Taking a step backwards, I scramble to find a good read on his actions as I continue to fumble for my phone. 
       “Name’s Derrick.”  He extends his hand to me.
       “Emma,” I state a little leery, shaking his offered hand. 
       “Why don’t you let me buy you a cup of coffee while I sober up?” he asks, his grin widening while he continues to hold my hand, effectively keeping it from reaching my cell that I had tucked into my back pocket.
       “It’s late.  I need to go home,” I reply, trying to slip my hand from his.
       Instead of letting me go, Derrick steps closer.  “You have the most engaging eyes I’ve ever seen. I swear it’s just like looking at the