Page 1 of Dock

Chapter 1

Hogan

“Dock”

They’d have my cut if they knew about this shit.

Or at least they might try.

I should be doing Jägerbombs with nearly topless tourists like Kegger, not stretched out in the back of a community college creative writing class in my small, middle of nowhere town of Avallone for the second week in a row.

But what can I say?

I like it.

And I like Emaline Owens even more.

Fuck, what’s there not to like?

She’s perfect.

More beautiful than any Harley I’ve ever seen.

Dreamed of seeing.

Could ever imagine seeing.

Not only does she have the most stunning, smooth, nutmeg shaded skin, she keeps it tucked away underneath these light-colored, old gen sweaters, guaranteeing no one unworthy catches more than a glimpse of her collarbone…her collarbone that would look even more fucking incredible with my bite marks on it.

Above it.

Below it.

Man, the amount of times I’ve pictured my tattooed, honey beige, arm slung around her neck, pinning her against me, trapping her, letting me be the only thing she can feel, smell, hear, surpassed appropriate last week.

Then again.

Pretty sure it’s never appropriate to wanna fuck your teacher.

Especially not one that’s got a couple HD anniversary editions on me.

I won’t say I’m obsessed.

But I won’t say I’m not.

“Remember,” Emaline blows a loose strand of her ash brown hair away from her petite nose, “writing is about finding yourself and finding your voice.”

Yeah.

Whatever the fuck that means.

‘Cause…come on.

Finding yourself?

Alright.

I get that shit.