Blade (The Alpha Elite #11)

Chapter Fifty-One

Blade

S itting in the corner of the coffee joint, baseball cap pulled low, I watched a woman through my camera app that I hadn’t laid eyes on in two years.

Wearing a tight tank top, leggings, and flip-flops, she shoved her sunglasses to the top of her head and smiled.

I snapped a pic.

Giant tits, bigger ass, a waist I’d wrapped my hands around, her hair was still long. Fucking twist-around-my-wrist long.

Goddamn.

Even through the small camera screen, the woman was still a fucking smokeshow.

I took two more shots of her.

Thanking the barista behind the counter in the same throaty voice she’d given me when she’d come all over my cock, she turned around. An iced-coffee drink concoction in both hands, she put her full fucking lips around the straw, closed her eyes, and sucked. Right there in the middle of the coffee joint.

Fuck me.

I took another pic.

Making a sound like she was coming, her whispered “Oh my God” hit my dick as she glanced back at the barista. “ So good,” she complimented.

The chick smiled. “Thanks, Juni! See you later?”

Rolling her eyes, she tacked on a half smile. “Does a rocking horse have a—”

“Don’t say it!” The barista chick’s face went red.

Laughing, shifting her drink to one hand before pulling down her sunglasses and reaching into a giant purse for her phone, the only woman who’d ever screwed with my head didn’t walk out of the coffee joint. She fucking strutted, hips swaying.

A second later, my cell pinged with a new text.

Crazy Chick: Do you know what happens when you’re fat and have stupidly long hair?

Staring after mind-fucking curves that filled out every inch of the spandex stretched over that ass, I wasn’t sure which fucked-up question to address first.

I didn’t have to pick.

Three dots swam, and another text came in.

Crazy Chick: You get hair in your ass. Literally strands of hair between your ass cheeks.

She unlocked her car.

Crazy Chick: Then you have to waddle like a stupid duck while juggling coffee, phone, and purse because do you know what it feels like to have eighty-seven-inch-long hair strands tickling your butt-no-no? Of course you don’t. Because you probably cut your hair.

She tossed her purse into the passenger seat, and I stood.

Crazy Chick: Well, it itches.

She sucked on the straw with those fucking lips.

Crazy Chick: Like bitches.

She got in her car.

I walked out of the coffee joint and aimed for mine.

Crazy Chick: Okay, I just made that last part up. And the eighty-seven inches part too. My hair isn’t that long. Not that you would know because we’ve never met. But I digress. Whatever. My hair is still long as shit, strands wind up everywhere, and I’ve decided today is oversharing day, so enjoy it. Or blame the half-consumed rocket-fuel coffee that’s currently hitting my system. And my hair. Because my butt-no-no still itches.

She closed her door and turned the engine over.

Crazy Chick: And how the hell does hair get there anyway? In the shower??

She finished her coffee.

Crazy Chick: That’s it. Baths are the new shower. I quit you, hair strands in my butt-no-no showers!

She threw it in Reverse and, like an insane person, pulled out of her parking spot without looking behind her.

I fucking texted back.

Me: Butt-no-no?

She rolled through the stop sign as she exited the parking lot.

Crazy Chick: Don’t make me say it.

Me: Asshole?

Unlocking the Range Rover, switching up my plan, I kept an eye on her Jeep so I could follow her to see where the fuck she went.

Crazy Chick: Now you’re calling me an asshole?

Me: Are you texting while driving?

Crazy Chick: What are you, the text police?

Me: Quit fucking texting and driving.

Crazy Chick: Reeelaaaxxx.

Me: Did you just tell me to relax?

Crazy Chick: Did you just have an aneurysm? Hello. Talk to text!

Jesus fucking Christ.

Me: What’s a rocking horse have?

Getting behind the wheel of the Rover, I cranked the engine.

Crazy Chick: A wooden cock, of course.

Tires screeched a block down the street.

Crazy Chick: Wait.

Turning the AC up, I waited.

Crazy Chick: Wait, wait, WAIT.

The three dots appeared.

Then disappeared.

I watched her.

Pulled over, Jeep idling, no movement.

Thirty seconds later, another text came in.

Crazy Chick: Blade?

Me: Yeah?

Crazy Chick: It’s really you? Like a real person, you?

Me: What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Crazy Chick: Okay, it’s you. Just checking.

Crazy Chick: I’m going to ask you a serious question now, and I need you to answer it.

Me: Shoot.

Crazy Chick: Are you an ax murderer?

Crazy Chick: WAIT. That wasn’t the question. That was rhetorical. Kinda.

Crazy Chick: Okay, for real…

Crazy Chick: Why did you mention a rocking horse?

I let her sweat for half a minute.

Then I stepped out of the Rover and typed.

Me: Look back at the parking lot, woman.