Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 43072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 215(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 215(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
“That’s not even the half of it. I ran so fast you’d have thought there was a donut dangling in front of me.” Journey chuckles at my joke. It’s not lost on me that I’m the issue in this equation. Usually, it’d be the man who would hit it and quit it, want no strings attached, running far and wide. God, I’m a complete and total mess. I walk behind Journey. My dog and Nico are nowhere in sight, which means I’ll have hell to pay at some point when I decide to go back home.
“It must have been a good night, though, if you’re here by eight o’clock in the morning wearing sweatpants. Your hair looks like mine does when Nico is done with me.” I wave her off, heading straight to the coffee pot. No little pods are in their house. With the way Nico works, he’s either slugging back caffeine or having his alcoholic drink of choice.
“The best and the worst all at once. Now I don’t know what to do. Sex complicates things entirely too much,” I admit, and yes, that was hard for me to say out loud.
“Well, you can’t hide here forever. I mean, as much as I don’t mind you moving in, Nico may say otherwise, plus you have a perfectly cute duplex you’re paying on.” I watch as she gets the griddle out, a mixing bowl, and a box of pre-made pancake mix while I doctor up my coffee.
“I would never ask to stay longer than necessary, promise. I’ll actually probably head out in a few hours, go on a hike to clear my head, and figure out where to go from there.” Journey’s head swivels like it’s on a hook, eyes meeting mine, eyebrows arching. I know what she’s doing. My best friend is calling me on my shit without saying so much as a word.
TWENTY-THREE
Madden
I jar awake; Cooper is licking at my hand. My eyes pan around the room, taking in the very sense of Hendrix she’s created, bright and vibrant colors in the form of bedding, curtains, and the furniture.
“What’s up, Coop. Where’s Hendrix?” I ask him, already knowing Hendrix isn’t beside me. The reason I know that is because the woman slept in the cradle of my arms, head on my shoulder, getting as close as she possibly could well throughout the night when I wasn’t buried deep inside her. I push the comforter back, hand going to my hair to run my fingers through it, and reach for my boxer briefs to slide them on before searching for Hendrix. That’s also when I see the bite marks she’s left along my chest. Fucking woman is a hellcat, wild as all get out. When her cunt clamped down on my cock, that’s when her teeth sank in. Coop doesn’t respond, just whines in a way that tells me he needs to go outside, and fast. I stand up, pull my boxer briefs on, keeping my eyes peeled for Hendrix as well as for any noise she could be making. Not that this place is so big it’d be hard to find her.
I glance at the nightstand on the side I slept on, then to hers. No note. We walk out the bedroom door. “Hendrix!” I call out. Zero response, just as I figured. It shouldn’t shock me that Hendrix would come, cut, and run. The woman is a pain in my ass. Why I chase after her, I’ve got zero fucking clue. What I do know is that enough is enough.
“Come on, Coop, let’s get you outside first. We’ll call or text Hendrix, then I’ll get dressed and head home,” I tell Coop as I open up the sliding glass door that leads to the small backyard Hendrix has, standing while he takes care of business, not that it takes him too long. This reminds me that I need to get home and take care of Coop in the breakfast department. I almost didn’t bring him to Hendrix’s seeing as I have a neighbor who will let him out when I text him. My boy has done a complete one-eighty-degree turn around since he’s gotten fixed, and we’ve been working on the reward system. So much so that he’s not running off. I’d say that he’s finally settling in. When Coop is finally done, we walk back inside. I close and lock the door, then head back into Hendrix’s room after taking another sweep across the apartment, coming up empty. I know she’s gone. That still doesn’t stop me from moving towards the pile of my clothes, picking up my jeans, and fishing my phone out of the pocket. I let the facial recognition open up my phone. There’s a slew of work calls and emails I’ve missed. Those can wait. It’s the fact that not one single thing in the form of communication is from Hendrix. I bring up my contact list, scroll to her name, hit it, and then bring the phone to my ear, listening to it ring once, twice, a third time before being sent to voicemail. I don’t hang up. Instead, I wait to hear Hendrix’s voice, “You’ve reached Hendrix Drake. You know what to do.” I hang up, not wanting to leave her a message.