Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
And with three fake dates on the horizon, I'm starting to feel more in control of my life, too.
4
ELIAS
The wind gusts up the road, causing the trash in the gutter to spin and roll. I push my hands into my favorite dark jeans, shivering against the cold. I should have brought a jacket, but I spilled beer on it last night and didn't have time to wash it. Having only one jacket makes me feel like a loser. My friends have closets filled with clothes, and moms who send them care packages and buy them pricey gifts for special occasions. I get the privilege of struggling for myself.
I glance in both directions, searching for Celine. I did offer to pick her up, but she told me she'd meet me at the bar instead. This arrangement doesn't sit well with me, but I'm not her boyfriend, and arguing about her lack of concern for her safety isn't my place.
In the distance, a petite girl with long dark hair strides towards the bar. I ignore her, glancing at my watch and registering that I've been waiting for fifteen minutes. Celine’s late, which I guess is a female prerogative. It doesn't take me longer than fifteen minutes to shower and dress and run some product through my hair. With all that beautiful, long red hair, it must take Celine hours to get ready.
"Elias." The voice sounds like Celine's and when I whip around, I find a girl with a face like Celine's, but everything else about her is different.
Dark hair spreads around her shoulders in soft waves, and the dress she's wearing is bright red and so tight, it's like a second skin. Her green eyes are ringed with black shadow, and her lips are painted to match her outfit.
She's a bombshell but not the real Celine.
"Wow." I don't know what to say. If I tell her she looks amazing, will she think I didn't like the way she looked before? If I tell her I prefer her natural hair and her more subtle way of dressing, will she feel bad about the changes she's made?
This situation is as treacherous as a minefield.
"You like?" Celine pivots on one very shiny black stiletto shoe, revealing all her slim curves that I remember so well.
"I like it," I say. "Do you like it?"
She beams. "I feel different, which is good. I like this new version of me."
"I like both," I say, treading a careful line.
"I didn't think diplomacy would come so easy to you?" She steps closer, hooking her hand around the back of my neck to press a soft kiss to my cheek. She smells good in a feminine way that sends heat flooding low, tightening my balls. Moving closer to my ear, she whispers, "You always seem to say what’s on your mind." She’s right. I usually do. But for some reason, protecting Celine’s feelings has modified that tendency.
When she draws back, she swipes my cheek to wipe away the lipstick she left behind. "Thanks for suggesting this. It's good to be out rather than sitting at home."
"I've seen a lot of people we know go inside," I tell her. "Not Eddie yet, but plenty of people who will mention it to him."
She nods, smiling at the prospect. There's something wicked about her desire to rile Eddie up. Something vindictive that I enjoy. Revenge is a base emotion, but it sure feels good when you give in to the desire.
I take her hand in mine and lead her to the entrance, nodding to the doormen who know me well. "Have a good night," one of them says as we pass.
Inside, the bar is only half full. It's still early, and I prefer not to be crushed amongst too many people. Being big and bulky has its advantages, but it also makes pushing through crowds a challenge if you don't want to be an asshole and knock people off their feet. I smile at the thought of knocking a pathway through the current crowd, separating everyone like pins at a bowling alley.
When I was a kid, I dreamed of being a man as big as my dad, who wouldn't ever have to worry about getting hurt again. I love my bulk and have cultivated my menacing stare. Since I turned eighteen, not a single man has tried to take me on.
At the bar, Celine stands on tiptoes and struggles backward onto a stool. She's so much smaller than me; it's almost humorous. "What's your pleasure?"
She grins, her perfectly shaped brows rising suggestively. "I think you know."
Damn. My cock thickens against my zipper, but I resist the urge to adjust myself. "Oh, I know. But I'm talking about a drink."
"Spoilsport." Her eyelashes flutter. "How about a Cosmo?"
I wave at the barman to get his attention and order one cosmopolitan and a bottle of beer. The drinks are ridiculously expensive, but I pay anyway, thinking through where I can tighten my budget later in the month.