Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 131330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
God, why do I have to love him so much? It would be so much easier if I could hate him and things like getting ready to leave for my dick appointment would feel a little more transactional. Instead, I’m wound up in a ball of nerves.
I have so many questions about how tonight’s supposed to pan out. Am I allowed to touch him? He’s already made it clear that kissing is off the table, but is that how he is with everyone he’s with, or is that just a rule for me because kissing might make things a little too . . . personal? Though, I don’t know what’s more personal than when he pushes that ginormous pierced cock deep inside of me.
I’m so nervous. I told him I’d be fine, that knowing it was him wasn’t going to affect me, and that I could keep myself from falling for him any more than I already had, but I’m almost positive that was a lie. I guess I won’t really know until we’re in that room and he puts his hands on my body. But knowing how good it is with him, how could I not have certain . . . feelings?
Are the lights going to be on or off? Will he meet me at the bar or am I expected to seek him out? Is he planning to fuck me and walk away, or will this be an all-night adventure? So many variables with so many unanswered questions, and every last one of them revolves around him.
I suppose I’d prefer this insane nervousness over the heartache and betrayal I’ve been dealing with the past few weeks. When his text came through, telling me he was in, it almost didn’t seem real. I’ve wanted this for so long . . . Well, an alternate version of this. I would have preferred that when something happened between us, it was because he was so into me he couldn’t keep his hands off me. That he was falling in love with me. But this is different. He doesn’t love me, doesn’t even see me as anything more than his best friend’s little sister, and it makes me feel like such a joke.
Did he agree to this because he thought it was his only way to find redemption for what he did? Or was it because the idea of being with me again was too tempting that he was willing to risk everything?
Like I said, so many unanswered questions.
I stand in my bathroom mirror, my hands sweeping through my long hair as my gaze drops to the membership card that lies beside my makeup bag.
Member #02684
I’ve memorized it at this point.
I’m just about ready to leave when my phone rings, blaring through my bathroom, and my heart all but lurches out of my chest. I immediately assume it’s Izaac calling to tell me this was a terrible mistake, but when I look down, I see that it’s only Becs.
“Just checking in,” she says, not wasting time with stupid greetings. “How’re you doing?”
I roll my eyes. I never told her that Izaac was the guy at Vixen or anything that happened after that, and I sure as hell haven’t told her that I’m meeting up with him tonight. I don’t know why though. I usually tell her everything, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t notice things were off over the past few weeks, and when things are off, she’s smart enough to connect it back to Izaac.
It’s always about Izaac.
“I’m fine,” I say with a groan. “Just like I was fine yesterday and the day before that, and the day before that.”
“Alright, alright,” she says. “Can’t blame a girl for asking. You were practically comatose for two weeks straight. I was worried about you.”
“I know,” I say, leaning toward my bathroom mirror and applying just a little extra mascara. “I really do appreciate that you worry about me. It’s nice knowing you care so much, but really, I’m all good now. I just had a rough patch.”
“Were you ever planning to tell me about this rough patch?”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
Becs scoffs. “Right. It’s Izaac, isn’t it? Did he do something to hurt you? Because I swear, if he did, I will nut-punch him so hard, and then just for good measure, I’ll nut-punch your brother too, because you know they’re a package deal and all.”
I laugh. “Nobody is getting nut punched. Though, to be fair, if anybody were going to do it, it’d be me. I’ve put in twenty-two years with those assholes. Surely I deserve some kind of long-service reward for my troubles.”
“You know what? You’re right. I’ll organize something,” she says. “We can invite them to your place and then drop the unsuspecting ass-faces right in the hallway.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” I laugh.