Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
“Sulli.” His body is stringent. “I need you to check on her.”
“Okay.” I squeeze his hand. I’m here, wolf scout.
His chest tries to rise.
We turn a corner near an old record player. Gold and black beads drape an archway, and once we walk through, I hone in on an extremely passed out Sullivan Meadows.
On a dark-green buttoned couch, all six-feet of her athletic frame slumps lifelessly against Akara’s side. Her squared jaw starts sliding off his shoulder.
Akara pulls her closer and holds her waist to support her weight. Seriousness hardens his gaze, and he looks up at me like she needs your help. “She’s been out for the last fifteen minutes.”
“How much did she drink?” I let go of my boyfriend’s hand and rest a knee on the couch. Leaning over, I put my fingers to her carotid artery. Akara brushes Sulli’s thick hair off her neck for me.
“Not a lot,” Maximoff answers, his left hand clutching his slinged-elbow. An attempt at crossing his arms. I’d joke about how he’s inexperienced with alcohol, but time and place, and plus, he adds, “I think.”
I’m about to double-check with Akara.
“I’m calculating her blood-alcohol concentration level,” Jane chimes in, voice unnaturally high. She’s upset.
I turn my head and see Jane seated on a Queen Anne velveteen chair. Right next to an unlit fireplace, she presses a pink calculator with guilt-ridden urgency. I ignore Thatcher who towers three feet away from Jane.
Jack Highland is on a chaise nearby. His camera is powered off and lens turned away from Sulli. Any footage of her passed out won’t be aired.
I focus on Sulli and talk to Jane. “I don’t need an exact BAC, Cobalt. Just tell me what drinks she had.”
Jane speaks so quickly in her breezy-as-hell voice that I can’t understand a fucking thing.
I raise my brows at Akara.
“Two shots, two cocktails,” he answers. “A single shot was in each cocktail.”
“Okay, that shouldn’t knock out a six-foot girl who weighs…one-sixty, one-sixty-five?”
“Around there,” Akara nods.
Her BAC has to be low, but she’s not a regular drinker. “How much sleep has she had?” I step back since her pulse is normal. I stand next to Maximoff.
“Not much,” Akara says, adjusting Sulli again.
There you go. “That’s most likely why she passed out after four shots.” I glance back at Jane who’s stuck calculating. “She’ll be fine, Cobalt. People pass out from drinking. Shit happens.”
Jane raises a finger at me. Not a middle finger. A pointer finger to shut up.
Maximoff whispers, “It’ll make her feel better.” I assume that Jane was the one supplying and mixing Sulli’s drinks.
And I don’t need to ask why they’re all tense.
From an outsider’s standpoint, having a friend facedown drunk is a nuisance at best. I’ve lugged Donnelly’s ass up a flight of stairs at 4 a.m. before, and we cracked jokes about it the next morning.
From a security standpoint, having a celebrity pass out—one who is female and has a family history of alcoholism—is a fucking PR nightmare. The moniker Drunken Heiress will follow Sulli around for the rest of her life.
From a friend and family standpoint, none of us want Sulli to have to deal with bad shit.
I turn to Maximoff, sweeping his sharp features again. “Who’s carrying her out of here?”
“Akara already picked her up, and she looked dead.” He shakes his head once, neck stiff. “She can’t be carried out, and there’s no way outside without a camera catching us.”
Not good.
Akara says what I’ve realized. “We’re staying here until she wakes up.”
Maximoff tries to crack his knuckles. The longer I stare at him, the more I know something is eating at my boyfriend, and fuck, I just want to be alone with him. It’s the only way he’ll unwind.
“Follow me, wolf scout.” I take his hand and try to lead him to the men’s bathroom. He ends up next to me, step-for-step, and he opens the dark wooden door.
I easily let him have that lead. Teasing him isn’t a good idea right now.
The bathroom is as elaborate as the bar: gold fixtures and faucet, three obsidian sinks and urinals, two varnished wooden stalls.
Maximoff puts a hand to his neck and glares at the fringed chandelier.
“What are you thinking?” I lean casually against a sink and grip the granite counter behind me. To be honest, I want to hold him. Badly. But I have to wait until he’ll let me. Until we talk this shit out.
And I love driving along the weaving and crisscrossing roads of his ever-turning mind. The fact that he lets me in means everything to me.
He tries to blow out a breath. “My chest is on fire.”
Just watching him, my chest is burning alive too.
Before I respond, he adds, “And I almost hit Akara.”
I quickly replay Akara and Maximoff’s interactions in my mind. They seemed normal. “He didn’t act like you swung at him.”