Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
It’s a good fucking system.
One everyone should adapt.
“You stress too fucking much,” Ivo declares at the same time he parks himself beside me. “You want something for that? I got scripts that could probably help.” He offers me the bottle of whiskey once he’s done pouring it into his coke. “Could probably even give you the first two for free.” His interest grows during the object’s transferring. “You are one of my best Kush clients.”
“Only ‘cause BD is so goddamn expensive.”
“High-quality shit comes at a high-quality price, grasshopper,” he arrogantly laughs while I pour the shit straight into my energy drink can. “First rule I was taught by the man who pays my credit card.”
Ivo’s dad and mine both work at the same investment firm, just in opposite departments. Mine’s domestic. His is in foreign thanks to an ability to speak seven different languages – a talent he passed down to his son who uses it to constantly get his dick sucked around his busy working schedule.
We both come from money.
But like the assholes who run our lives we differ too.
He knows how to make it.
I only seem to know how to spend it.
And too fucking fast to keep pretending it’s for school shit.
“So,” Ivo begins, leaning back against his couch cushion, “you wanna tell me about the shit or do that thing where you pretend that you’re not in a fucked-up mood and spend twice as much to prove it?”
I don’t bother fighting the laugh. “It’s just fucking Bambi bullshit. That bitch is a fucking nightmare.”
“Yeah. There’s a reason most of us hit it and quit it, bro'.”
“No shit.”
“You were warned.”
“I know.”
“More than once.”
“Again…I fucking know.” After pushing the bottle off to the side of the glass coffee table, I lift the can up towards my lips. “Let’s just say that she wasn’t my first-round draft pick.”
“She probably shouldn’t have even been eyed for the fucking team.”
Another laugh escapes prior to tipping my drink his direction in an agreement. Post a sip, I playfully point out, “But without her, I wouldn’t have your ass.”
“You would’ve found me some other way. I’m like fuckin’ Visa, Collins. I’m everywhere you’re gonna be.”
“That’s not their slogan.”
“Close enough.” He chuckles, gulps down a mouthful, and asks, “You want some of your usual shit or something…more…next level that’ll definitely put your ass in a better mood?”
“We talkin’ better than The Incredible Hulk but less expensive than BD because if so, then yeah.”
“Ever try coke?”
--
“A coke rush is nothin’ to fuck around with,” I sigh, head hitting the wall at the same time I blow out an invisible smoke ring into the air of the Chat Room. “That shit didn’t just take me to the next level…It took me to a whole other fucking playing field.” An unexpected longing for it causes me to shove the candy stick back in my mouth to kill it. “On that shit, life was good. All the bullshit I didn’t wanna deal with was fucking numb. I didn’t overthink about what I could and couldn’t control. I just…went with the flow. Became that guy everyone wanted to be around because he knew how to have a fucking good time. And real talk? Whenever I’ve been on it? There wasn’t a single fucking thing I didn’t think I could do.”
Doc doesn’t speak until he stops writing. “Have you ever felt that way sober?”
My face threatens to smirk. “Being with Pres had a similar effect.”
He momentarily cuts his stare up to me. “A natural high.”
“Everything about my girl was fucking natural. Her looks. Her charm. Her instinct to take care of me. To protect me…”
“You don’t feel as though anyone else cares enough to fucking protect you, do you?”
“Nope.” I remove the stick and twirl it between my fingers. “Sometimes I think Noah tried, but I’m not sure if that shit was real or me just hopin’ it was.”
“Are you sure that Blue Dream always protected you and that that memory isn’t one you’re just projecting hope onto as well?”
“Yeah.”
“You seem awfully fucking sure about that shit.”
His statement has me looking off the direction of the window I wish I could stare out.
“Something happened.”
I don’t answer.
“Ah,” the all-knowing grunt followed swiftly with, “she saw you high and covered it up.”
“Worse.” The correction soars off my tongue before I can even consider stopping it. “She dealt with the comedown…and covered it up.”
--
How I exactly convinced Pres to run the risk of us getting caught by meeting me over at Ivo’s tonight I’m not entirely sure.
Fuck, maybe I really am more charming after a few bumps of coke like Bambi loves to tell me I am.
Maybe I should do another real quick?
Keep that charm good and hot for the person who really fucking matters to me?
The decision bounces around my brain back and forth while I impatiently twiddle my thumbs, anxiously waiting for Pres’s arrival.