Read Scarred: A New Adult Romance (The Anderson Brothers Series Book 1) for Free Online

to the club last night. Ran into some hot chicks that would’ve loved to
take you home.”
    He
glares at the TV, still chewing.
    I
wave the napkin Adrienne gave me in front of him. “I even got one of their
numbers.”
    Fuming,
Chris slams his plate down on the coffee table, milk sloshing out of the top.
“What the fuck, Dom? Gonna rub that shit in my face now?”
    “Nope.
Not my type. Got nice tits, though.” I let go of the napkin and watch it
flutter onto his lap.
    Chris
picks it up and stares at it. “‘Adrienne’ … You managed to get her number ?”
    “Yup.
Got it while thinking how to help your sorry ass yet again.” I smile a little
at the shock on his face.
    Chris
gets a hold of himself. “Dude, you did this for me? I … thanks. Sorry for
being such a dick about things.”
    “Mildly
speaking.” I finish my cereal.
    “You
said she’s got nice tits? What’re her measurements?” Chris’s eyes widen with
intrigue.
    “Uh
… I dunno. Forty inches, maybe?” I throw some random number out there. I’m
definitely not a boob connoisseur.
    He
looks thoughtful for a moment, then narrows his eyes. “Chest or band?”
    “What?”
    “Chest,
then.” He does some counting on his fingers. “The way you make it sound, she’s
pretty big, so I’m thinking maybe around a thirty-five band.” His eyes suddenly
go wide. Dude! You realize that’s probably a double-D cup?”
    I
blink. Several times. Did he just
calculate her bra size in his head? It amazes me that Chris practically has
this down to a science.
    “Are
they real?”
    I
shrug. “Never said they were real. I honestly have no idea. Guess you’ll have
to find that part out yourself, now won’t you?”
    “Damn
right, I will!” He springs up from the couch and marches to his room, napkin in
hand.
    The
old Chris is back. Never thought I’d actually be glad about it.
     
    * * *
     
    Noon rolls around and I can’t take it anymore. It’s
seven hours till my date with Denise, but I really want to call her to hear her
voice again. I dig the folded paper out of my wallet and hastily dial her
number. She answers on the third ring.
    My
heart pounds. Her voice is beautiful on the other end. “H-Hi, Denise. It’s
Dominick.”
    “I
thought I told you to call me when you’re about to leave?”
    I
bite my bottom lip. I can’t tell if she’s just joshing me or really annoyed
that I called too early. “Sorry, uh, if you’re busy, I can go …"
    I’m
met with silence on the other end. Did
she hang up on me?
    “No,”
she finally says, and I exhale a quiet sigh of relief. “I got back from the study
group not long ago. But I have to go do laundry in a bit.”
    “Okay.
Well, I’ll let you go do that. You still up for the date tonight?”
    “‘Date?’
I thought we specifically agreed on ‘dinner,’ not a ‘date.’” I can practically
hear the smile in her voice.
    “Isn’t
it the same thing?”
    “Not
quite, but I’ll let it slide for now. So we’re still on for Jade Fusion?”
    “Yep.
I’ll see you around seven.”
    “I’ll
be waiting. Later, Dominick.”
    I open
my mouth, trying to think of something more to say, trying to think of a way to
keep hearing her voice for a little while longer, when I’m met with the buzzing
sound of the ended call.
    My
heart swells with excitement. How ridiculous is this? I feel like I’m back in
high school on my first date. I haven’t gone out on a date—a real date—in months, maybe even a year.
The few girls I ended up with since starting college turned out different than
I expected, and they all moved on to the next guy.
    But
Denise seems genuine. Like the girl I always wanted in my life but could never
get.
    With
seven hours to spare, I can’t keep still. I call the restaurant and make
reservations, and then rummage through the clothes in my closet for the white
button-down shirt that has my motorcycle club’s emblem embroidered on the left
side. The graphic is small and abstract, like a