Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 822(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 822(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
She nods, smiling. “Yes. I’m positive.”
“Good, because I get three months off before I start training again. I think we could use those three months to do as much catching up as we can… and then some.”
She nods. “I would love to know what you were doing these past four years besides fighting and training.”
I kiss her on the cheek. “I will tell you whatever you’d like to know.”
Her warm lips consume mine and I sigh, running my hands down her hips. They drift over her plump ass and she smiles behind the kiss.
“Drake,” she exhales.
“What? I can’t help myself. All I want to do is touch you. Take you. Make you mine as many times as I can.” The tip of my nose skims her jawline and I hear her breath hitch. “But I’ll hold off for now.”
She laughs, but it is short lived when her phone rings. She looks towards it before meeting my eyes briefly.
Stepping past me, she walks to the nightstand and picks it up. I see that flash of horror fill her eyes as she immediately silences the call and lowers the phone.
“Who is it?”
She avoids my eyes. “It was…him.”
I frown, sticking my hand out. “You want me to tell him to stop calling?”
“No, Drake. It’s fine. I’ll block his number today. He won’t be able to anymore.” She shrugs. “Besides, I think he’s calling because he leaves today.” Her phone does a short buzz and she snatches it up. She reads something and then rolls her eyes, tossing it on top of the comforter. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she grabs her bottle of lotion and rubs it on her legs.
“I don’t fucking like him, Jenny. You should just let me deal with him. A guy like that will never leave you alone. Trust me, I know. My father calls me every fucking day.”
“Every day?” She quirks a brow, eyeing me. “Do you answer?”
“Fuck no.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t have to. I don’t owe him shit.”
“You still don’t like him?”
“What is there to like?”
Her lips twist. “My… Mom has been calling a lot lately too.”
“She has?”
“Yeah. Shocking, right? First she makes Dad stop sending me money for tuition—leaving me to fend for myself—and now she’s calling nonstop. I don’t know what she wants, but I refuse to answer. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“I doubt it’s just nothing if she’s calling every day, babe.” I grab a pair of boxers out my suitcase and step into them. “She might have something important to tell you.”
Her eyebrows draw together as she rubs lotion on her elbows. “If it isn’t her telling me she found a way to bring Mitchell back to life, then I don’t care.”
“Be realistic.” I fold my arms.
She scowls lightly.
“When’s the last time she called every day?” I ask.
“She hasn’t since I was in Fox River.”
“And you don’t find it strange that she’s calling non-stop now?”
She turns to face me. “What are you getting at, Drake?”
“Well, shit, Jenny. Flex has been calling my ass ever since the day Grandma Marie died. He hasn’t let up. Doesn’t matter that I’ve changed my number, he always manages to find a way. He knows people. But that’s expected of him, which is why I ignore him. I have nothing to say to him unless he has an apology for me… and we all know I will never get that. But your Mom has been calling as of now… not before. You don’t find that… not like her?”
“I guess… I don’t know.”
Her eyes lower to my chest, but then her eyebrows pull together. Standing, she walks towards me, running her fingers over the cross I have tattooed on my chest. I look down with her.
“When did you get this?” she asks.
“About three months after I found out you were going to Yale.”
“Doomsday Love,” she reads out loud. Her eyes move up to mine. “What’s that mean?”
“It means,” I murmur, grabbing her hand and kissing the back of it, “that the part of me that loves being Doomsday can fall in love. He is capable of it, but only one person can bring that true love out of him. And that is the girl who gave me that vending machine cross in fifth grade.”
Her smile stretches and she reveals a full, white smile. “Oh my God, Drake.”
“Stupid?” I ask.
“No,” she breathes, looking down at it again. “No—it’s perfect. And sweet.”
“I know that cross is important to you. You should keep it for yourself again. I have the daily reminder with me now.” I smirk.
She nods, her eyes glistening, but then she steps back, and a look of distress smothers her features.
In an instant, she rushes back for her suitcase, digging through it. She tosses some of her clothes out, digging through the pockets and pouches.
“Jenny?” I call, my head tilting.