Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
“Aw, Ben’s not that bad,” I argue, reaching for the cup of coffee another frazzled waiter suddenly drops in front of me. I thank him before continuing. “I think Ben’s caddish reputation has been grossly overexaggerated.”
“Sorry, Abbey, but that reputation is well earned,” Yvonne warns, her expression serious. “He’s an absolute cad. In the tabloids every other day, caught up in some debauchery or another.”
I shrug. “As the daughter of a man who was in the tabloids his entire life, I have it on good authority that half the shit those rags write about people is false.”
“Fair point.” Celeste wraps her fingers around her coffee cup. “But Yvonne’s not wrong—the Tulleys and debauchery go hand in hand. I’m thrilled you had a good time, though.” She gives me a grudging look. “And I suppose it was right of you to take Lee. He’s not stopped gushing about it.”
“I don’t think he even came home last night. At least I didn’t hear him come in.”
Our food arrives in record speed, and I forget my manners as I practically inhale my avocado on toast. The two of them are far more restrained, Celeste daintily spreading jam on her toast while Yvonne picks at a poached egg.
“What did you end up doing last night?” I ask Celeste between mouthfuls of food.
“Roberto stopped by mine for a quiet dinner. He brought the most exquisite white wine, and we got drunk and shagged on the living room floor.”
Yvonne’s eyebrows fly up. “Are you serious! Our prudish Roberto had a shag somewhere other than a bed?”
“Mental, right?”
I wash down my toast with some coffee, laughing at Celeste. “You never mentioned Roberto was a prude. Is he actually?”
I still haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her forty-three-yearold lover-slash-philanthropist. Lee says Celeste likes to keep her boyfriends to herself. She’s never even brought one home to their parents, according to him.
“He’s…reserved,” she finally answers. “Vanilla, I suppose.”
Yvonne snorts. “You suppose?”
“All right, all right. He’s very set in his ways,” Celeste says, grinning. “He prefers missionary position—always in a bed—and blow jobs only while lying down to receive them. And he doesn’t make a sound during either act. It’s quite unnerving.”
“Nate isn’t very vocal either, particularly during blow jobs,” Yvonne says with a shrug. “It’s not that unusual.”
I feel a stab of jealousy at the thought of her on her knees in front of Nate.
Immediately followed by a sharp prick of guilt at the memory that this woman’s boyfriend was in my room last night asking if there was “something” between us.
The nausea I didn’t experience this morning now makes an appearance. I gulp down some more coffee and hope neither of them comments on my sudden mood shift.
Luckily, we can’t loiter in the café long. We’ve barely taken our last bites before the waiter marches over with the bill and practically orders us to leave. We part ways on the sidewalk, and I walk home trying to remind myself that I haven’t crossed any lines with Nate.
I flat out told him I wasn’t interested in playing home-wrecker. I told him to stop texting me. Hopefully he respects that. Like, stop torturing me with your brooding bad-boy-ness, dude. Just keep having silent sex and receiving silent blow jobs from your girlfriend and leave me out of it.
Back at the flat, I run into Jamie in the upstairs hallway.
“Hey. Jamie. Question,” I say. “Do you make noise when you get a blow job?”
“Heaps of noise,” he confirms. “Would you like a demonstration?”
“Ew. No.”
I hear him chuckling as he heads downstairs.
I spend the rest of the day catching up on my favorite TV shows, then eat an early dinner with Jamie, because Jack is out with his rugby friends, and Lee still hasn’t come home. I don’t know if I should be worried Lee is chained up in a bathtub somewhere because Lord Eric stole his kidney, but every time I text him, he assures me he’s fine. Or rather, he’s in heaven, according to the latest assurance.
It’s weird having Lee gone all weekend, though. I didn’t realize what a huge presence in my life he’s become. He’s my best friend here.
Around noon on Sunday, I’m still in my lazy clothes, reading in bed, when two soft knocks sound on my door.
“Abbs?” Jack’s voice.
“Yeah?”
He comes in, wearing jeans and a black long-sleeve that hugs his broad chest. “How about a drive?”
I wrinkle my forehead. “A drive?”
“Yeah. Out to the country. I borrowed my mate’s car. It’s a junker, so I figure he won’t notice a few dents.”
“You borrowed a car for me?”
“Heard you chatting with Jamie yesterday about renting a car so you could practice driving, and it reminded me I promised you we’d go.” He shrugs. “I’d rather you went with me than Jamie. I feel like I’ve a better shot at keeping you alive. So?”