Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 89090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
He sounded groggy as fuck, which was surprising since he’d barely touched drugs once Ana moved into his apartment.
Recalling the bag I packed in a hurry for Ana when she was stretchered out of the laundry room of our building covered in blood, I still Polina’s tugs by placing my hand over hers, gently pull the seat belt latch into place, and lock my dark eyes with her pretty blue ones.
I don’t give a fuck what the critics say. Sexual tension is greater than a mountain of remorse. It zaps from my balls to my toes before recirculating through my groin for a second run and makes it almost impossible to keep my hands to myself.
The only reason I do is because Polina deserves more than a romp in a dirty car and against a paint-peeled wall. She should have a castle, Prince Charming, and all the fancy shit to go with it.
I’m no Prince Charming, and I’ll never own a castle, but I’ll have no issues occasionally sticking out my pinkie finger while drinking tea if it will convince Polina otherwise.
I might even splurge on some satin sheets.
I can’t remember the last time I smiled without feeling guilt, but the quickest tug to my lips can’t be held back when Polina mutters, “Whatever dirty thought you’re thinking, Yev, stop. It can’t happen again.” She wipes the smile from my mouth with a handful of whispered words. “I have too much riding on my relationship with Vas to stuff it up for sex.”
“Is that so?” My voice is as groggy as the husky deliverance of her lie. She’s not thinking straight since she’s angry, so she has the villain and the hero of her story confused. “Because if I recall correctly, you also once said you’d never be caught dead in this death trap again. Yet here you are, sitting in my passenger seat… again. So maybe my bed still has a chance.” Her knees pull together when I mutter under my breath, “And perhaps even my face.”
Certain some of her anger has been pushed away for want, I say, “This has also never just been about sex for me, Polly. If it was, I would have given up chasing you the instant you dished up the goods. So do you want to tell me what the fuck is really going on? Or are we going to keep playing the game that gets innocent people killed and has fuckheads like Vasily believing they own the board and all the players on it?”
“Can we just go, please? I’m freezing, and although the rust holes do an awesome job ventilating whatever the hell that smell is, they have me regretting my decision to wear toeless pumps.”
Her reply would have you convinced she is a coldhearted bitch. The tears welling in her eyes tell another story. She’s hurting, but she just has no clue who she can trust anymore, so there’s no way she will express herself freely.
Her response is partially my fault. I forced her so far out of her comfort zone the weeks we fooled around that I left her open and exposed. Then I was the asshole who refused to return her messages after taking her hard and deep.
She feels used.
After firing up the engine and cranking the heat, I remove my jacket before curling it over her mostly bare legs. My chivalry settles the expression she forced onto her face when Vasily tried to convince her to renege on our deal, but it does nothing to the wetness pooling in her eyes.
I’m fucking desperate to work out what’s going on with her, but Polina isn’t a woman you can crack open with a handful of words. You need a jackhammer and a heap of time to peel back her layers.
Time I now have since she’s bunking with me for a week.
As I check for traffic at the end of the lot, I ask, “Do you want to grab something to eat before cruising by your place to pack a bag? There’s a kitchen hidden under the empty takeout boxes, but I doubt you’ll find anything worthwhile to cook in the pantry or fridge.”
Polina waits for me to make a break for it between a semi and a family van, before replying, “I’m not actually spending the week at your place, am I? That whole spectacle was just for show… right?” The longer I stay quiet, the more her throat strains through multiple swallows. “Yev… I can’t stay at your apartment. You don’t understand what you’re asking me to do.” Most women panic when they’re in a relationship that would lead straight to their fiancé. Polina doesn’t even consider him. “What if Alek finds out?”
“I’m sure he’d rather you at my place than with a douche who can’t keep his hands to himself.” She almost chokes on her swallow this time around but maintains a silent stance. “Did Vasily cause that mark on your cheek?” Before she can fire off one of the denials in her eyes, I remind her of my mind-reading capabilities. “Let me rephrase my question. When did he inflict that mark on your cheek?”