Off The Clock Book Mga Nobela at Kwento

I was also wearing a dress that was short enough for my backside to be visible whenever the wind blew. Upon seeing my provocative outfit, Yvonne tried to talk some sense into me out of concern. "You aren't afraid of riling Clyde up, Michelle? You can't blame me if he forces himself on you later." I turned and smiled faintly. "You can rest assured that I know exactly what I'm doing, Yvonne." I soon arrived at Clyde's house to find him doing glute bridges on the floor, bracing himself with his hands and straining to lift his pelvis upward.

Speaking of the devil… She gave him another nervous smile as his eyes darted between her and the clock, clearly annoyed. “Good morning? Do you even have a freaking clue what time it is?” He sounded like he was barely holding back his temper. “Well, you’ve looked at the clock, like, five times already… why are you asking me? Don’t tell me you can’t read an analog clock?” she shot back sarcastically. Predictably, her snark earned her another glare, which she ignored as she turned her attention to the clock. “There, see? It’s only 8 AM. Pshhh. Remember the three hands of the clock—short for hour, long for min—"

I never expected that Lucas's way of making me regret would be disrupting my professor appointment ceremony. This wasn't something a decent Alpha should do. A few days ago, I was promoted to professor of Combat Theory due to my outstanding performance. At the ceremony, Lucas suddenly showed up with Finn in his arms. "Claire's name hasn't been removed from the Moonhowl pack registry. I'm sorry, but she can't hold a position in the Stormcrest pack," he said confidently, holding some documents.

She wasn’t trying to be a tease. When the clock finally struck three, I closed up my computer and headed for the door. I was almost free when our VP, Greyson called out to me. “Hey Phoenix! We are going down to the Cashbox for a drink. You coming?” “Can’t tonight!” I waived them off. “We’ve got company at the house. I’ll catch you next time!” It was almost true. I couldn’t really consider my dad's live-in girlfriend as company. I also couldn't tell my friends that I was more interested in spending the afternoon with my almost-stepsister than I was in sipping a few beers with them.

It was a clock. And time was running out.

I booked the next flight back to Springville that very night. At the divorce court hearing the next day, Ariel was still stubborn about not wanting the divorce. To my greatest surprise, Claude wasn't there. Meanwhile, Ariel explained every single watch she bought for me and also told the judge and jury about all the things she'd done for me, to the extent that the judge actually looked moved by her words. In the end, my divorce case ended up being rescheduled for another day. I had just walked out of the courthouse when a white sedan suddenly sped toward me. Claude was at the wheel, flooring the pedal as he mumbled under his breath, "Die! Go to hell! Die!

“Come on. Follow me.” He heads toward the records hall, and I follow. Inside, the air is cool and old. Dust and ink cling to the stone walls… stone that remembers secrets. He stops at a locked shelf and pulls out a massive book. The leather is cracked with age, gold symbols burned deep into the cover. “The Pack Offense Record,” he says. “Ancient. Permanent.” My fingers itch to touch it. “Every crime,” he continues, “every betrayal, every punishment is written here. Once a name is inked, it can never be erased.”

Feet fast enough to blur, like his body was always just ahead of his thoughts. Too fast. Too reckless. Too goddamn young. Liam crossed his arms tighter, narrowing his eyes as Noah sprinted past the back line with a grin that didn’t belong here, not in this league, not on a rookie. “Watch the offside!” Liam barked, sharp and sudden. Noah barely turned his head. Just lifted a hand in a lazy, cocky little salute like he’d heard the command and decided it didn’t apply to him. Liam exhaled through his nose. He knew boys like that. He used to be one.