Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“Please give us all the details!” Brittany chimed in from Angela’s left. You wouldn’t know she’d been in a slap-fight with my sister mere weeks ago. No, everything about her was a concocted mask of perfection, an outward pretty package for every passerby to admire. I wondered what she’d said to my sister to set her off, but Anne had never told me. She claimed it was because she was too drunk, but I gathered there was more to it than that.
Michael groaned into his wine, rolling his eyes.
“He’s at a pickup game,” I answered. “And he’s incredible,” I answered honestly. The man had enchanted me, not only with his lips but with his words, his soul. The way he could see straight to the heart of me, the way he could slip his way into places I hadn’t let anyone in—my mom’s illness being one of them. I could talk to him about it for hours and afterward feel all the better for it. Because he listened.
Outsiders took in his rough exterior and his stoic silence and deemed him dangerous or uninviting, but the truth was Cannon was an observer. More perceptive than anyone I’d ever met. He could read a room, a person, a group, and know the mood. Know how to navigate out of it if need be. And he used that same skill set to hone in on my needs these past weeks, satisfying them and beyond, even if that was merely a hot bath and a quiet night.
Not that he’d take the hot bath with me.
No, that I was still working on.
Because while I wouldn’t push him, I wanted to prove to him that my intentions were real—I wanted him on every level. I had to earn his trust first. Had to show him nothing about it was a passing whim, a fantasy I wanted to play out. Cannon—though he’d never admit it—craved depth and truth and unflinching loyalty. I would prove to him that it wasn’t his perfect body or his bad-boy exterior that I hungered for, but him. The man he was and the happiness he brought to my life—for however long I was allowed to keep him.
Chatter continued around me, aimless and this side of haughty. I wondered how I’d ever managed these luncheons before, but figured it was mostly for Father’s benefit. He’d always urged me to maintain close relations with club members. Though, just because some of his best friends originated from here didn’t mean mine had to.
No, I had found myself friends with a much different group of people—people who laughed freely and loved deeply. People who were fiercely loyal and equally as kind.
My Reaper family. And after two years of being surrounded by that family, I was quickly realizing they were the ones I found myself needing to be around more and more.
An hour later, I happily walked to the parking lot, ready to drive to my meeting with Mr. Silas—partly because of my excitement to discuss a new venture and partly because I knew Cannon would be there.
Sweaty.
In hockey gear.
Sliding across the ice like a lightning strike.
“Sephie!”
I jolted at the sound of my name, so lost in my thoughts I hadn’t heard Michael behind me.
“Yes?” I asked, turning toward him as he approached my car.
“What was that back there?” He motioned toward the club.
“What do you mean?”
He lowered his voice, dipping his head slightly toward mine. “You were distracted. Downright rude to your friends who haven’t seen you—”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry, but someone has to tell you.” He raised his hands. “You’ve changed.”
A small smile played at the corners of my mouth.
“I mean, seriously, Sephie. What the hell?”
I raised my brows, clicking the unlock button on my car.
“We had a plan,” he continued. “And you up and married some…some piece of trash like that?”
“Careful,” I said with unnerving calm. “I adore my husband,” the truth of that statement filled my heart. “And I have no qualms about smacking that mouth into place when it rattles off insults like that.”
“We had a plan,” he repeated, totally ignoring my words.
“You had a plan,” I snapped. “I was never, not once, involved in that plan. Just you and your parents and your wild dreams. Well, if you knew me at all, you would know I’d never marry someone for money, let alone connections as old family friends.”
He gaped at me like I’d grown another head.
“And,” I continued, “if you knew me at all, you’d know I’d never laugh at the expense of others like that crap up there was.” I pointed toward the club. “And I’d never stand for you calling my husband trash.” I sucked my teeth, shaking my head. “We’re done here, Michael. I’ll kindly ask that you leave, or I’ll just have to run your ass over on my way out.”