Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
All I want is the sassy little redhead who drives me wild. If the world doesn't like it, fuck 'em. Our opinions are the only ones that matter. And we're the only ones that get a say in what we do.
She's my choice. She'll be my choice every time, without hesitation. I need her to know that, too. And the best way to ensure she knows that is to remove the sword dangling over her head. If the world knows now, she doesn't have to keep worrying about it. But I don't want her to find out until it's already said and done.
She'll lose her damn mind if she does.
"Will you take it for me or not?" I ask Kai.
"Fine," he sighs, setting his Kindle aside to take the envelope from me. "But if this gets me into any bullshit, I'm telling Beckett about Tokyo for his fucking book." He narrows his blue eyes on me. "And I'm telling Jameson's girl that you're responsible for whatever is in this envelope."
"I'll tell her myself as soon as the news breaks."
Kai eyes me sideways, and then he shakes his head. "You know what? Whatever it is, I don't even want to know. I'm keeping my big ass out of it."
"Smart man." I smack him on the back and then jog toward the bus where I left Ireland earlier. She was trying to convince Mason to teach her to speak British…whatever the fuck that means. I'm not entirely sure she even knows, but I have a feeling she'll be using every slang word Mason could think up by the end of the day.
I find her outside the bus, talking to Havoc. Laughing with Havoc, actually. What the fuck? Why is everyone always fucking smiling at my wife?
I stomp toward them, scowling daggers at my bodyguard.
He sees me coming, notices the look on my face, and immediately goes stoic. But not before shooting me an amused smirk, as if he thinks it's hilarious that she has me all twisted up in knots. I'm sure he probably does. He's listened to me bitch for months now about girls trying to sneak backstage, into our rooms, or onto the tour bus. He's given me shit about it more than once. And then here comes this tiny little goddess, and suddenly, I'm singing a different tune.
No, I'm singing a fucking musical.
"You have to tell me all the juicy stories about him, Havoc," Ireland is saying when I walk up behind her. "I have to be able to use it against him. Otherwise, what's the fun of being friends with his bodyguard?"
"You're not making friends with my bodyguard, Ireland," I growl, shutting that bullshit down right now. Hell no. I trust Havoc with my life. But trusting him with my wife? Fuck that.
She spins around when she hears me, lighting up like the sun. "Crue! You're back."
Jesus. She beams like she hasn't seen me all day instead of thirty minutes. Somehow, that makes me feel more like a rockstar than taking the stage every night. What is it about this wild woman that makes me so crazy?
Everything. It's everything.
"Just in time, from the sounds of it," I mutter, tugging her into my arms. "You aren't making friends with Havoc, Ireland." I pause. "Or the crew. Or the band. Or anyone else with a dick, for that matter."
"It's cute you think you have a say in this," she says, patting me on the chest. "But you don't. I'll be friends with whoever I want."
"Uh, the hell you will."
"Do you like sleeping in the same bed as me, Crue? Because you won't be if you keep brassing me off, acting like a numpty by telling me I can't be friends with Havoc and the band." Her smile never falters. That sweet voice never falters. She lays down the law according to Ireland, newly learned Britishisms and all, without missing a beat. I thought Shelby was mildly terrifying, but I think my wife may have her beat.
My dick is rock-hard.
"Inside," I growl, scooping her up into my arms.
She squeaks, clinging to my shoulders as I storm up the steps into the bus with her, Havoc's deep chuckle chasing us up the steps. The door slams behind us. Mason looks up, sees her in my arms, and shakes his head.
"That's my cue to go see a man about a dog," he says, rising to his feet.
"Oh. You don't have to leave," Ireland says.
"Yes, he does."
"Crue!"
I shrug, unrepentant. He doesn't want to hear what's about to happen here.
"He's right," Mason says, grabbing his phone off the table before striding toward the door. "I definitely have to sod off. Have fun. Godspeed. Toodles, fuckers. Whichever."
Ireland giggles, pressing her face to my chest as he slips past us, escaping the bus. I lock the door behind him before carrying her to the nearest chair and planting my ass in it.