Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
I like it, she’d claimed once when I’d remarked about how futile it must have felt to be doing that folding over and over during her shift, it’s meditative.
There wasn’t a gym uniform, per se. But you were expected to look sporty, and to wear something from the gym’s own merch line. Of which there were a lot of options.
This morning, she had on a pair of sneakers that looked expensive, but were knockoffs of the ones that would actually give her feet some support. This was why when she didn’t think anyone was watching, she would sit and roll her ankles and move her feet around, trying to ease the ache. Her black leggings were tight, hugging every curve, and paired with a light pink hoodie because she always said the gym was too cold.
Her blonde hair was pulled up into two high ponytails toward the back of her head with a couple of strands hanging down to frame her face.
And, fuck, that face.
I got why Gav wanted her to be the face of the company. All soft, feminine features, big doelike brown eyes with lots of lashes around them, and a cute little cupid’s bow mouth.
She didn’t wear much makeup, and I didn’t know if it was a rule of Gav’s, or because she just didn’t like it. But she usually had on some mascara and some sort of tinted lip balm.
She wore small gold hoops at her ears, despite Gav telling her it was against the rules more than a dozen times.
They were a gift from my father before he died, she told me, shaking her head, I’m not taking them off.
“Hey, you!” she greeted, giving me that million-dollar smile of hers. I knew she gave it to everyone. But it was hard not to feel the impact of it when it fell on me regardless. “You look tired,” she said as I chugged more of my pre-workout.
“I am,” I agreed.
“The clubhouse was all lit up when I made my way to work,” she said, nodding knowingly. “I’m surprised you got any sleep. I have a very strict nighttime routine,” she added.
Somehow, I’d already imagined that.
Everything about Everleigh was soft, feminine, and almost meticulously put-together. I could see her with a ten-part skincare routine that she did after having a cup of tea, brushing her teeth and hair, then getting into some matching PJ set, turning on some soft music, maybe a white noise machine, then climbing into bed.
“I’d say you get used to it,” I said. “But you really don’t.” Ruckus laughter and screaming sex was loud no matter how many times you tried to sleep through it.
“I would be a complete bear if I didn’t get my sleep,” she admitted, shaking her head at herself.
I couldn’t imagine her being a bear.
The closest I’d seen to her being even a little bit moody was when Slash accidentally got Gav to block Taylor Swift on the radio, which prompted her to make him a smoothie that was foul-tasting and bitter to punish him for it. But even then, through her little rant about her shitty day and wanting to listen to some pop music, she’d been sweet.
“I have a new neighbor beside me. He’s a streamer, and he plays all night long,” she told me as she rolled a towel. “I had to buy soundproofing tiles to put on that whole wall to muffle it.”
She bought soundproofing tiles to muffle it instead of asking him to keep it down. That really seemed to sum up Everleigh to me. Non-confrontational. Always trying to be pleasant.
The only time anyone had ever seen her truly unhinged was when her sister’s abusive ex got out of prison, making her trek out to Morgaine’s place and pay her to take him out.
Which would have seemed really extreme, especially for a woman like Everleigh, until you saw the pictures of what that man had done to her sister, leaving her swollen, bruised, and sexually abused, stuck in a hospital bed. And that was after months or years of other abuse.
I’d have had him killed too.
Or, rather, I’d have done the killing myself.
I didn’t have a sister. But I had a cousin I would rip someone’s throat out for putting a rough hand on. And I wouldn’t typically call myself a violent man. Despite my profession and the shit that came along with that.
“What time do you go to bed?” I asked. “If you’re here before me each morning,” I added, not wanting to sound like a complete fucking creep.
“Oh, I’m going to sound like I’m ancient,” she said, shooting me a sheepish smile. “I go to bed at nine-thirty,” she admitted.
“Reasonable time, since you gotta be getting up at five. Or before then. Are you just a morning person?”
“I’m a… I like having my afternoons free kind of person,” she said, shrugging.